


Mezhdu Dvukh Ogney (Between Two Fires)

by Delphicy



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Condoms, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Graphic Sex, Humor, Language, M/M, a nauseating amount of metaphor, graphic fighting, radical oscillations between silliness and srsbsn, so many condoms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-13 17:19:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 56,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3389870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphicy/pseuds/Delphicy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon’s ill-fated decision to play match-maker forces Shizuo and Izaya to become reluctant allies. Their goal? To demonstrate what a horrible idea it is to force them into a relationship. Or: how KFC nearly sparked the apocalypse. Now with 70% more arson!</p><p>This is an English fanfic about a Japanese series that is riddled with Russian proverbs and Celtic mythology. It's like riding It's A Small World, only instead of animatronics you have violent manchildren and an entire city's unhealthy fixation with their sexual relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Date 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rukazaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rukazaya/gifts), [A whole bunch of people made this fic possible](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=A+whole+bunch+of+people+made+this+fic+possible), [but she made me come back to it :)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=but+she+made+me+come+back+to+it+%3A%29).



> Apologies on getting the existing story up in small increments. I am trying to catch prior mistakes as I go. 
> 
> Written for a Kinkmeme prompt all the way back on part 2: http://drrrkink.livejournal.com/1786.html?thread=2431738#t2431738.

The inciting incident started with Colonel Sanders.

Izaya had never been a huge fan of fried food (or fast food in general for that matter), but this made his hatred _personal_. The Colonel’s grinning, goateed face had left an impressive budding bruise along Izaya’s upper arm, and if the informant didn’t get a move on _right now_ , the smug bastard was promising a bucket of extra crispy concussions and a side order of internal bleeding.

Shizuo let out another of his trademarked feral howls, and swung the giant ceramic replica like a customized baseball bat as the restaurant workers looked on in awed horror. Izaya, by virtue of a skip backwards and a quick pivot against the nearby curb, launched upwards to use the Colonel’s head as a stepping stone, intent on triumphantly kicking Shizuo in the face. Time seemed to slow as his next step tapped against the Colonel’s vest and his body angled towards the furious blond whose eyes were widening in alarm. Izaya’s other leg swung forward, sailing towards its target in a rush of-

Izaya was suddenly flying _backwards_  as his senses accelerated back into real time and he inexplicably found himself dangling in the air, multiple feet from his target. Oh come  _on_ -

“Is no good, this fight. Grown men should not act as children.”

Suddenly and brutally assaulted by flashbacks of his high school days, Izaya gave a half hearted struggle that only succeeded in making Simon tighten his grip on the informant’s shirt. Shizuo, in a similar predicament, was punching against the hand that held him by the collar. Fists that routinely shattered concrete didn’t even earn a flinch from the Russian.

“ _Stop_ ,” Simon demanded as Izaya was contemplating the merits of sacrificing his shirt in the name of escape. To punctuate the statement, the massive man gave both captives a frustrated shake that left Izaya feeling like a rat in the mouth of a terrier. “Is tiring. You come. Eat sushi.  _Talk_. We will end stupidity.” With that, Simon shifted so that he had a combatant dangling over each shoulder as he stalked back towards the entrance of Russian Sushi. Uncertain whether he was more irritated by the intervention or by the fact Simon could pull off this act just as easily as when Izaya had been an adolescent, the informant settled for sending a death glare towards Shizuo. Shizuo was too busy seizuring in a fit of inarticulate rage to appreciate the effect.

As they entered the shop, a heavy silence fell over Russian Sushi. Though his field of vision was limited, Izaya got the sense that the restaurant was filled with diners. It took a lot of people to achieve that quality of packed silence. That would just figure. The one time Simon actually had customers, he decided it was time for public humiliation. Izaya determined on the spot that he would savor the revenge he cooked up for the sushi chef.

There was a quick, disorienting swirl of movement, and Izaya found himself plopped down next to Shizuo at the sushi bar. Taking advantage of Simon’s distraction as he moved behind the bar, Izaya pushed off of the counter and bolted towards the exit. He had just enough time to take in all of the shocked, staring faces of the other diners (hey! There was Dotachin and his group!) when he felt the traitorous neckline of his shirt constricting his windpipe.

“Sit. Down.” The Russian stated quietly, giving a final yank to Izaya’s shirt and pulling him back to the sushi bar. Izaya sat. Shizuo opened his mouth- his face painted with rage- only to pause as Simon silently leveled a warning finger at him. Shizuo’s mouth clicked shut. Simon regarded the two for a moment, and then broke into a grin. “See? Is nice. Here. Eat and we talk.” The Russian placed several chimerical dishes in front of them that glistened, steamed, and jiggled all at the same time. Izaya, only through great personal effort, managed not to vomit in his mouth.

Simon placed his hands on the counter and simply grinned at them, shifting his gaze between the two combatants and the food in front of them expectantly. A little part of Izaya died as he picked up the safest looking piece and took a placating bite. At least the piece he was chewing wasn’t erupting with pelmeni like the other articles on his plate. Next to him, Shizuo made an interesting noise between a hiccup and a gag.

“Good.” Simon nodded, looking pleased. “Now no fleeing. We will talk, and we will fix.” The rest of the restaurant was still deathly silent at their backs. “Property damage is getting ridiculous- you are menaces. When you get together? How you say… for makeouts?”

Izaya dropped his “sushi”. Shizuo choked on his (though it may have been an independent event from Simon’s question). Something broke further back in the dining area. “What?” they asked in strained, synchronous voices.

“You are like little school children, pulling pigtails. I thought you figure out on own, but taking too long. Better for everyone in city you admit attraction and stop silly fights.”

Shizuo coughed into his hand. “Simon, that’s not-“

“Great!” Izaya exclaimed. “It sounds like this was all one big misunderstanding. I’ll just be-“

“No. We are talking and we are _fixing_.” Izaya and Simon entered an impromptu staring contest. The informant looked away first only because Simon’s creepy blue eyes were weirding him out. That was the _only_  reason.

“Okay Simon, we can talk this out like reasonable adults, since you appear so set on having this conversation. Why the _hell_  would I ever feel anything but utter loathing for this violent, brainless monster? What sort of relationship can you possibly hope for if you live in constant fear of harm because  _someone_  forgets how to act like a functional human being?” Angry gaze trained solely on Simon, Izaya missed the small flinch this elicited from Shizuo. Simon did not.

“ _V chuzhom glazu sorinku zametno, a v svoyom brevna ne vidat'_  Izaya.”

Izaya pouted. Shizuo looked bewildered. “What?” the blond questioned, his hurt momentarily forgotten. “Was that Russian? Simon, if we are going to be forced to listen to this lecture, you should probably at least do it in a language we can understand.” Izaya glanced over with a superior look, which Shizuo completely ignored. Chance for gloating completely foiled, Izaya went back to pouting- reason number 3012 why he hated the simpleton.

“Yes, yes, is true Shizuo. In Japanese. You both- hook ups and makeouts should happen. Is better.” He nodded resolutely. There was something that sounded suspiciously like a snicker from the silence behind them. Shizuo, who had been unconsciously gripping the counter top, found a piece broken off in his hand. Trying to subtly hide it under his chair, it was his turn to attempt to reason with the intimidating Russian.

“I have no desire to put my mouth anywhere near that detestable scum. I think you may be confused about our relationship. I hate him. Hate, Simon. When you hate someone, you do not generally make out with them.”

“Actually,” Izaya mused before realizing it was counterproductive to the argument. It was really just insult to injury that the situation required he work with Shizuo. “…yes. Hate means no making out.” He attempted to distract himself from the fact he was agreeing with the idiot- and poorly at that- by shoving another piece of Russian sushi into his mouth. True to intent, his gag reflex took his mind off the matter.

Simon was looking darkly displeased. “No. All energy you spend- always Izaya Izaya Izaya. Always thinking about. Always obsessing over. Need to acknowledge attraction and act on. No suppress. Suppression is ruining city infrastructure.”

“I’ve been trying to kill him for TEN YEARS,” Shizuo shouted, so irritated by the situation that he smashed the overly ornate tea cup in his fist. “That is not suppression! It is too late to try and play nice!”

“ _Luchshe pozdno, chem nikogda_!” Simon insisted as Shizuo threw up his tea-soaked hands in frustration and Izaya reflected how he wished he _could_  die from eating the disgusting sushi.

“ _Vilami na vode pisano_ , Simon. For the love of ootoro and all real sushi, drop it,” Izaya shot back in disgust, and was finally rewarded by a floored expression from Shizuo.

“You have got to be shitting me,” the blond muttered at length. Izaya shot him a charming grin.

Simon ruined the moment by slamming his hand down on the counter top. “No more arguing, only listen.” He paused, as if organizing his thoughts. When he continued, it was some of the smoothest Japanese they had ever heard out of him. That deserved reflecting on at some later point. “You are going to go on a date, and you are _going_  to like it, because however much you may protest it, you both are so obsessed with the other that you are practically in love already. You are both sad, flawed, lonely people, and you _and_  this city will be happier if you stop denying the attraction and just act on it. I don’t care if all it takes is writing sweet texts to one another. I don’t care if it requires you have sex every three hours. You are going to attempt romance, because you are going to realize it is actually attraction driving your actions. You. Are. Going. On. A. Date.” There were a couple of wolf whistles and scattered applause, but when Izaya glared over his shoulder, all the diners were staring studiously at their plates.

“And if after the date we still hate each other’s guts?” Shizuo questioned tentatively.

“Seven stumbles expectation,” Simon proclaimed solemnly.

The two blinked at the Russian in silence. Putting aside animosity for a second, Shizuo glanced at Izaya with a raised eyebrow.

“I think he means perseverance is the key,” Izaya whispered back.

“Ah.”

“Can’t we at least… postpone this or something?” Izaya tried to reason. The situation was a bit more serious than he had originally anticipated, and he needed to come up with a suitable plan to cope with it. He couldn’t fully abandon Ikebukuro- too many amazing things were already in motion in this city, not to mention he would be hard pressed to find a gullible moron as entertaining as Shizu-chan. Yet Simon’s adamancy made it sound like he would not simply let the matter drop when the date inevitably dissolved into a bloody melee. As much as Izaya hated to admit it, Simon was one of the few people who could truly do damage to his daily dealings if he were motivated enough to. “Yes. I believe we should postpone. I am just so worked up over all of this _passion_  I feel for Shizu-chan that I could really use some time to reflect on if it really is misguided love.”

" _Kuy zhelezo, poka Goryacho_ ,” Simon stated flatly, clearly not buying into the evasive maneuver.

“I was under the impression the saying had shifted to _Kuy zhelezo, poka Gorbachyov_. Honestly, we would be getting off easy if this liaison turns out to only be as disastrous as Perestroika.”

“CAN WE PLEASE SPEAK JAPANESE?” Shizuo howled, flinging a ripped off piece of counter top at Izaya’s head in a fit of frustration. Simon reached out and caught it with a reproving look.

“All you need to know is you are going on date. You will enjoy date. You will report events of date back to me. And you do it all in next week, or I come up with something for you.”

Mysteriously, even though the ultimatum was vaguely worded, it somehow strongly hinted at a future with voyeuristic Simon, a video camera, and some R18 doujinshi as inspiration. They hastily set the date for next Thursday.

“Ne, ne, Simon~~. Wouldn’t you prefer to have some outside surveillance to make sure they relay events back to you accurately~?” Two sets of narrow, furious eyes swung around to fix on a blushing and bubbly Erika. Walker, a few steps behind her, looked conflicted over whether he should line-backer tackle her or wet himself.

“Yes yes. Surveillance is good. Karisawa-san will referee date. Report back to me.” The silence in the restaurant was slowly starting to ebb away as whispers and murmurs floated throughout the room.

“Che.” Shizuo stood abruptly and stalked towards the door with a palpable cloud of fury. “Seven o’clock on Thursday at your apartment, Flea. If you are late or aren’t there, I am breaking all of your personal belongings.”

“ _Likha beda nachalo,_ ” Izaya muttered, swearing that acts of arson against all the KFCs in Japan would be his first of many strikes of divine vengeance. Simon laughed heartily and slapped him jovially on the back. Because of Newton and his stupid laws, Izaya ended up in the middle of Dotachin’s (newly) broken table, covered in braised ham sushi. Shizuo, who was halfway out of the building, broke into delighted laughter that rang clearly through the dining area even after he had exited.

Shizu-chan, Simon, Erika Karisawa, Walker Yumasaki, Colonel Sanders, and Isaac Newton. Izaya’s hit list was growing.

* * *

(Some idiom explanations:

 _V chuzhom glazu sorinku zametno, a v svoyom — brevna ne vidat'_ \- seeing the minor flaws of another while ignoring your own major ones

 _Luchshe pozdno, chem nikogda_ \- better late than never

 _Vilami na vode pisano_ \- “written on flowing water with a pitchfork” uncertain or unlikely to happen

 _Kuy zhelezo, poka Goryacho_ \- strike while the iron is hot, amended to “strike while Gorbachyov (is in power)”, a reference to the socioeconomic reform the Soviet Union attempted in the 80’s (and which many believe ultimately led to its downfall)

 _Likha beda nachalo_ \- Things go from bad to worse (“when it rains, it pours”)

Simon’s seven stumbles- meaning to say _nanakorobi yaoki_ , which equates to “there were seven stumbles, but get up eight times”- essentially “try until you succeed“. Simon used yoki instead of yaoki)

* * *

 Shizuo gave a frustrated sigh and threw down the shirt in a crumpled wad. A quick glance towards the clock confirmed his worst fears: an hour and a half. He had spent an hour and a half trying to decide what shirt to wear. This fact was made moderately ridiculous by the fact he owned a total of three dress shirts that weren’t part of the usual bartender uniform. The fact was made _completely_  ridiculous by the fact that he was exerting such effort on behalf of the date with the _Flea_.

Idiotic or not, Shizuo still felt an overriding need to dress to the occasion. He hadn’t been on a date in… well anyway, when this date inevitably failed, it would be solely on Izaya’s head. This would just prove that Izaya was the defective one, and Simon should be focusing his unprompted life-meddling on the smaller man.

Out of frustration, Shizuo finally secured his sense of style for the night with a quick bout of eeny-meeny-miny-mo. Crumpled maroon shirt it was. Only, apparently one should not attempt to iron while angered and frustrated. Suffering a wardrobe attrition of 33%, he left the melted, smoking remains of the red shirt and decided the grey shirt was a better choice anyway. At least, it had been until he shot his arm through the shirt sleeve with a bit too much zeal. The sound of tearing fabric filled the room as the dress shirt converted into a sleeveless style.

Gritting his teeth with a low growl, Shizuo glared down at the remaining dark blue silk. Fine. _Whatever_.

Having a glass of milk to calm himself down first, Shizuo slipped into the shirt and buttoned it up with exaggerated care. He scowled when he gave a quick glance to the mirror. It honestly felt strange _not_  being in the bartender uniform, and this unease just added to his overall irritation. He continued staring at his reflection. Shouldn’t he do something else other than change his clothes? What did other guys do? Gel their hair? Shizuo cringed. He could only imagine the field day Izaya would have with mocking him for that. Shizuo gave a passing thought as to what the Flea might be doing differently before cringing once more. If he was basing his standards on Izaya, the night was already lost. Settling on putting on some cologne Tom had given him for his last birthday, Shizuo grabbed his glasses and his bag as he stalked out of the apartment.

He was so busy muttering darkly to himself that he almost missed the black motorcycle parked against the curb.

“Oi, Celty. What are you doing here?” he asked, feeling some of the stress melt away as he walked towards his dark clad friend.

[You look nice] she typed by way of greeting, causing him to flush and glance away briefly in embarrassment. [Are you sure you want to go through with this though? Izaya is kind of a jerk. It doesn’t sound like it will be a very fun night].

“You think I am doing this willingly?” Shizuo growled before catching himself. It wasn’t Celty’s fault he had to go through with this inane plot. It was just something of a sore point that he hadn’t been able to figure out how to get out of it. He had been sorely tempted to just kill Izaya and cite his aversion to necrophilia, but he had the niggling fear that Simon wouldn’t let him get out of this on a technicality. Perhaps more unnerving was the fact Izaya hadn’t already dissolved the date somehow. The Flea schemed professionally- why the hell couldn’t he get them out of one stupid date?

Giving a sigh, Shizuo tilted his head back to regard the red-streaked evening sky. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you, I’m just pretty certain the night _will_  suck. Did you come to talk me out of it?”

Celty shook her helmeted head. [I heard about the stipulations. It is probably better that you go. I just came to offer you a ride to Shinjuku, and see if you needed to rant a bit before going through with this].

Shizuo had no great desire to get to the city any sooner than he had to, but he couldn’t deny the allure of doing a bit of venting. Nodding in gratitude, he sprung onto the back of the bike.

“What really gets me is how unfair-“ Shizuo started before Celty had even seated herself. He didn’t stop for the entire drive. As the city sank into a blended hue of twilight and tail lights, Celty slipped between the streaming traffic and Shizuo shouted his concerns about the night. Celty, despite the heavy rumble of traffic and the gusts of speed, could clearly “hear” the nervousness seeded in Shizuo’s irritation. She made no comment on it, however, and continued to nod to show she was listening even as she cut across several lanes of traffic.

When they finally pulled up outside of the high scale apartment building, Shizuo was feeling a bit more uplifted, if only for the camaraderie he shared with the black rider. “Thanks for listening Celty. You really are an awesome friend.”

[I know :P] She patted him on the shoulder before cocking her helmet and giving him a thoughtful once-over. With a snap of her fingers, some of her smoke condensed into a dark tie around his neck that she briefly fiddled with. Content, she moved on to straighten his helmet-mussed hair and brush out the wrinkles at his shirt. He drew the line when she attempted to rub at something on his cheek, and batted her hand away with a put upon sigh. Taking the hint, Celty took a step back with her hands on her hips and gave one decisive nod before displaying her PDA with a dramatic flourish. [Go knock him dead!]

“Actually, I already thought about that, but I think-“

[It’s a figure of speech, Shizuo. It means you look very handsome, and should be able to make Izaya drool. You can win this whole thing if you get him looped around your little finger, so have some fun!]

Shizuo frowned. “Regardless of my strength, I don’t think I can manage to loop and entire person around-“

There was a soft slap as Celty’s helmet hit her hand. [Forget I said anything. I’ll wait here in case you two need a ride somewhere.]

Shizuo nodded before looking over his shoulder to scowl at the gleaming wall of windows. The building itself seemed to have an air of superiority, causing Shizuo to grit his teeth before he turned and stalked towards it. He refused to even acknowledge his concurrent trepidation- it felt disturbingly like the first day of school to be honest. Fittingly, he suspected Izaya was watching from a high window nearby.

The elevator ride up to the penthouse was equally unnerving: soft, bland instrumentals serenaded him when he felt like there should be some sort of ominous guitar rift playing. Completely unbalanced, he stepped out of the elevator and tugged lightly at the oddly silky material of Celty’s tie.

After so many years of making his entrance by kicking down doors, Shizuo was temporarily stumped as to how to approach Izaya’s apartment. After a moment’s deliberation, he shrugged. Why stop a good thing?

With a chorus of splinters, Shizuo shouted out a cheery “I-zaaaa-yaaaaa-kuuuun~, you are-“

He cut off in uncomprehending silence.

Izaya was in the middle of the room with a look of mild surprise, a grocery bag dangling from his hand. He was dressed in the _exact same_  outfit he was always in.

“You-“

“Hi Shizu-chan! Nice of you to burst in!”

“You-“

“I just got back, but would you like some tea?”

“You-“

“I have to say, this wasn’t quite how I planned the evening, but-“

“You _f_ _orgot about our date_?!”

Izaya let out a snicker that twisted his stupid face into a mask of glee. “Don’t you sound like the scorned girlfriend? This is terribly embarrassing, I’m sorry, but I must have forgotten to pencil you in.”

Shizuo felt warmth drip down his fingers from the deep gouges his nails were making in his palms. He passingly hoped the blood would stain something expensive.

“ _Ty krasivy_ (you are beautiful)?” the bastard tried with a sickeningly charming smile.

“I. Don’t. Speak. Russian.”

“Ah, but at least you can recognize that was in Russian! Honestly, that’s more than-“ Izaya didn’t get to finish his statement. Shizuo was across the room, lifting Izaya by the hood of his jacket before ripping said jacket to shreds.

“What the- what the _fuck_  Shizu-chan! You idiotic- that was my favorite coat!”

Shizuo felt slight vindication at watching that stupidly cheery grin melt into a scowl of rage. “Well, now you will just have to change into something else, won’t you?”

“I suppose so, but what about your glasses?”

“What do you mean ‘What about’-“

There was a blur of movement, and suddenly the lavender tint of Shizuo’s world cracked in front of his eyes. With a plaintive chime, fragments of his designer glasses showered to the floor.

The air took on the charged silence of forth-coming pain.

“I’m going to kill you,” Shizuo stated calmly over the quiet click of Izaya’s flick blade. Izaya’s phone cried in the background like a wailing technological baby. Their tumbleweed came in the form of one of Izaya’s files falling from the nearby coffee table and spilling across the floor. The combatants pounced.

Izaya’s message machine caught as Shizuo had Izaya in an oxygen-stealing half Nelson and Izaya was vainly angling for a kidney with his knife (he had really only achieved about a millimeter of penetration into dermis).

“Shizuo! Izaya! Best wishes on evening. I am sure you left- already on date. Just sending good wishes, for glad I do not need interfere and force you into enjoying company. Is good. No need to take _drastic measures_. I now contact Erika- get update on how date started. Good good!”

The machine clicked.

Both Shizuo and Izaya stood panting in the silence. On some silent cue, Shizuo released Izaya’s head as Izaya withdrew his blade and both glared at some undefined point on the floor.

“I’m going to go change,” Izaya stated at length.

“You do that,” Shizuo replied, brushing at non-existent lint on his shirt.

“By the way, that is a charming cologne, a fascinating fragrance I can’t seem to resist-“

“GO CHANGE.”

Once Izaya exited the main foyer, Shizuo cast his glance around the spacious area and entertained himself with counting how many things in the room pissed him off. An ostentatious desk (two computers? Really?), a phone blinking angrily with twelve new messages (all of them no doubt containing slimy underhanded gossip), the file that had slipped off of the coffee table to spill a textbook worth of pages across the floor (all in English. _Of course_  Izaya was multilingual)- virtually anything his eyes touched was an irritant.

Shizuo’s curious glance shifted to the odd hybrid strategy game set up on the go board. He decided to hate that too- only Izaya would make up a new game out of multiple existing ones. Apparently established strategy games were too _mundane_.

The blond plucked the king piece from the board and peered at it suspiciously.

“You wish to take possession of the king? How amusing! I wonder if I should read some portent into that?”

Shizuo spun to see Izaya emerging from the bedroom, looping a belt around his waist. Shizuo’s first thought was that the ironing incident was apparently a good thing, or else he would have ended up matching the Flea. The second thought was that Izaya either had a world record for changing clothing, or had simply grabbed the very first outfit his fingers had touched. Thoughts one and two bled into a completely unwelcomed third: how utterly unfair it was that Izaya was able to slip on a sense of cultured poise right along with his well fitting clothing, all in a matter of minutes.

Beyond this, the expensive fabric accentuated just how small and slim the man actually was, an attribute usually hidden by the Flea’s now-deceased coat….and that was getting way too damn close to being a complement. Shizuo’s brain got the firm command to shut up. Ever the opportunist, Izaya gleefully filled the silence.

“Don’t you find it interesting that for all its power and all its value, the king piece is so incredibly vulnerable? Far better to be the queen and have free reign of the board, ne?”

Shizuo knew that there was a significant amount of subtext in this statement. It wasn’t that he caught the metaphor (he didn’t), it was just safe to assume virtually anything out of the Flea’s mouth was a needlessly complicated mind game. Thankfully, Shizuo had the perfect way of dealing with that. “Shut up. Can we go now?”

The shorter man let out a soft huff that almost sounded like frustration. Shizuo decided to consider that a victory.

“Sure Shizu-chan, let us proceed with this magical evening of laughter and wooing. I am ever so eager for the scintillating conversation.” And that little rant probably had an insult buried in it somewhere, but Shizuo was content to simply acknowledge Izaya was losing his temper. Good. He was starting to understand why Izaya got so much enjoyment out of pissing people off.

Gathering up a furry scarf and a slim coat of some foreign make, Izaya opened the door and gave a mocking gesture for Shizuo to precede him.

“What is with you and fur anyway?” Shizuo asked as they shared an uncomfortable elevator journey down to the first floor. The maximum possible space was between them, Shizuo noted as he leaned against the right wall. It would probably be funny if he wasn’t the one stuck in a box with the Flea.

Izaya, who was securing the article in question around his neck, glanced up with a guarded look. “I had a younger brother who was killed in a tragic chipmunk feeding accident. Ever since then I have been on a sacred rampage of vengeance against all woodland creatures.”

“Wait, really?”

Izaya mutely shot him an incredulous look right before the elevator jolted, causing both of their foreheads to smack into the metal doors.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding m-“ a soft, romantic song cut off Izaya’s disgusted statement. “Erichan~! This is far too cliché a move to be entertaining~!” he shouted at the metal ceiling. All that greeted him was the soft warbling coo of the musician. “That’s just great. Really.” He raised his voice once more. “You realize it’s too cramped in here to even have anything other than wall sex, right?” Once more, the pop music was his only answer. Incensed, he turned towards Shizuo and gestured angrily towards the door.

“What do you want _me_ to do?” Shizuo questioned, not really understanding what was going on. He cringed as the singer hit a particularly high note.

“Unless you would like to play into a stale plot device and start making out for the simple reason we are caught in an elevator shaft, I want you to Shizu-smash the doors, genius.”

“I’d rather Shizu-smash your face,” Shizuo growled back amid his valiant struggle to block out the fact he was apparently trapped in an enclosed space with the Flea.

“Have I just coined a new term? How cute. Allow me to break down the situation, however. You either pry open the doors, or we sit here for multiple hours waiting on the grace of God and Erika to let workmen rescue us. I must say, if this is your idea of a date, it is really no wonder you have been single so long.”

Shizuo wanted to deliver a bone-crunching punch to the face now more than ever, but even he could appreciate that this was not the appropriate action given the situation (the elevator was too small for a decent wind up, and he might accidently get Izaya’s blood on Celty’s tie).

“Whatever, Flea,” he finally muttered before gripping the doors with a creak of metal that went disturbingly well with the current music. Prying back the doors, they were greeted by a landscape of dark steel.

“Utterly inconsiderate,” Izaya murmured, eying the three inches of space between the elevator and the metal shaft. “Looks like we are going into Hollywood spy mode, Shizu-chan. Out through the roof. And for the record, if this ruins my clothes, I’m blaming you.” He gave a passing glance to the ceiling hatch before executing an alternating pop vault up to it. Swinging his legs straight upward, he kicked out the cover and disappeared onto the roof of the elevator with an artistic twist of his torso and the ringing clatter of the hatch.

Shizuo rolled his eyes at the theatrics, crouched, and sprang upwards in one fluid movement to clear the small opening and land next to Izaya. The Flea was looking uncharacteristically grim as he studied the wires of the car.

“This is really excessive. Someone should inform the fujoshi that facility sabotage is not an acceptable tool for romance. Seriously, it is a good thing these cars have safety devices even if the wires snap or-“

Clearly this particularly car did _not_  have safety devices should the wires snap, as it fell out from under their feet with the vibrating shriek from the last wire right as Izaya was making this statement. At least the ensuing plummet through the darkness successfully shut Izaya up. Shizuo distantly acknowledged this should be terrifying, but after a split second of lurching downward, he twisted in the air and caught a hand on the elevator track to his right. Swinging inward from this new fulcrum, he slammed into the side of the shaft with enough force to cause his sight to rattle about. Trying to blink his vision clear, his body gave another jolt, almost causing him to lose his grip. Glancing down, he saw Izaya latched resolutely to his ankle.

“What the hell Flea? Get _off_.”

“If it is all the same to you, Shizu-chan, I would really like to postpone obliging until I am not dangling fifty meters from the ground, ‘kay thanks.”

Shizuo’s eyes focused beyond the Flea’s face. Or rather, they tried to, but the shaft extended for what no doubt _was_ at least half a hundred meters, ultimately sinking into a dark, indiscernible haze. Another second and the ear splitting crash of the car could be heard at the bottom.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” Shizuo growled, feeling gingerly along the car track to find a better hold.

“Absolutely. There is no other way I want to spend my evening than dangling from your leg. Oh dear, that sounds suggestive! Maybe we can tell Simon that so he’ll consider the date a success!”

“Seriously,” Shizuo growled, finally finding a supporting side bar that allowed him to hoist them both up a few centimeters, “you _never_  shut up.”

“I am told hysterics can make a person chatty. Not that I am out of my mind with terror, mind you, but I can’t say I am particularly comfortable trusting my well being to your abilities.”

Shizuo gave an irritable shake of his leg, and was gratified to hear the Flea’s jaw click shut as he strengthened his grip on Shizuo’s ankle. In the silence, Shizuo was able to focus on finding more handholds, and slowly spidercrawled his way up to the level of the next floor’s doors. In one final and particularly awkward maneuver, he hopped ledges, catching the edge of the floor’s entrance with the tips of his fingers as curses floated up from his ankle. One handed, his fingers sunk into the metal, yanking the elevator door back.

A beam of light pierced through the gloom of the elevator shaft, and Shizuo had a half second of relief before there was the disturbing sensation of the Flea monkey-crawling up his torso.

“Ugh, stop that, we’re almost-mph!” Izaya found his final footing on Shizuo’s face and vaulted into the hallway, letting out a relieved sigh as Shizuo scrambled up behind him.

“What the _fuck_ Izaya? I save your sorry ass and-“

“Good evening Watanabe-san. Might I suggest taking the stairs tonight? The elevator seems to be malfunctioning.” A distinguished and weathered businessman stood staring in open mouth silence as Izaya and Shizuo started to straighten their clothing. He did an about-face and promptly disappeared back into his apartment.

“I didn’t know this sort of thing happened outside of the movies,” Shizuo muttered, casting a final glance back at the twisted metal they had emerged from.

“Yes, quite the adventure. Let’s not bring it up again though. It’s definitely a mood killer for the evening. I’ll be sure to let maintenance know about the problem.” Shizuo shot Izaya a bewildered stare. If the blond found something out of the ordinary, it was unusual for anyone else to brush it off. Izaya had regained all of his previous poise, however, as if he made it a habit of falling down an elevator shaft every time he tried to leave the building. “Come on, if we don’t hurry we’ll be late for our reservations- oh, for the love of… come here.”

To Shizuo’s great surprise, he was yanked forward as the Flea started retying his tie.

“Wha- I can do it myself! Get off!”

“I highly doubt that. Hold  _still_. What is this material anyway?”

“Like I would tell you! Back off bastard!”

As they were squabbling, there was a clatter of feet coming from a door down the hallway. Celty burst out of the stairwell, flanked by several stressed looking officers.

[Thank goodness you are alright! What happened to the elevator?]

“It-“

“Malfunctioned,” Izaya spoke over the top of Shizuo. “We were able to get out before it crashed, as you can see. Officers, would you mind contacting the landlord about this abysmal state of affairs? There are good chaps. Black Rider, thank you for your concern, but we don’t need your services. Can we go now Shizu-chan? We really are going to be late to our reservations at this rate.”

Shizuo was yanked down the stairwell before he could give so much as a parting wave to Celty. There was something bothering him at the back of his mind, something beyond Izaya’s odd behavior over the elevator. If only he could-

“What the _fuck_  do you mean, reservations?! Didn’t you say that you forgot about the date?”

Izaya grinned over his shoulder as he continued to rush down the stairs. “Did I? I can be so mischievous at times!”

Several stories above them, Celty simply shook her head as she heard a trademark feral scream resonate through the stairwell.

The two made record time to the ground level, having forgone the conventional use of stairs to turn-vault their way down the guard railings (Izaya did so to burn off nervous energy. Shizuo did so because Izaya was _escaping_  and instinct kicked in).

“I figured dinner at a nice restaurant would be acceptable to Simon,” Izaya called over his shoulder as he and Shizuo hit the streets and continued to parkour their way through the nightlife crowds of Shinjuku.

Around the near-enjoyable haze of primal rage, Shizuo was able to acknowledge just how many familiar faces were flashing by him. Of those he didn’t recognize, many of them were still odd enough that they were no doubt from Ikebukuro anyway. On a far curb stood a girl who looked like her head had been reattached. One street down was an oddball wearing a horned gas mask of all things. The one face Shizuo did not see, however, was Karisawa, and that was probably a point of concern.

He was so caught up in this train of thought that he almost shot past Izaya after completing a lache off a fourth story balcony. Spinning on reflex, he raised his hand for a strike, only to blink as a comb was pressed into it.

“Try to make yourself look slightly less like a delinquent. This is a nice restaurant.”

Shizuo had to swallow the immediate rage that came with this statement as he glanced over and saw the softly lit establishment with foreign script scrawled across its store front. The intent was to make Izaya look like the unbalanced one here. Losing his temper would do nothing to help this plan. For the sake of escaping any future dates, he could try to control his anger. He WOULD control his anger. He was the well adjusted one, damnit!

The comb snapped in half.

Just as Shizuo’s vision was suffused in red, something soft and sweet was popped into his mouth. Blinking in surprise, he mechanically chewed on the candy and looked at Izaya in askance.

“No going into a homicidal rage until we are actually inside the restaurant,” whatever that meant. “Now come on. Surely we can at least agree that neither of us want this to last any longer than it needs to.” Izaya gave a quick twirl completely at odds with his serious statement before prancing towards the doors.

An oddly placid Shizuo followed, chewing on the sweet candy in his mouth absently.

* * *

The candy trick was something he would have to keep in mind, Izaya mused as he strolled towards the restaurant. It had honestly been pure conjecture that it would work in the first place, but Shizuo was so childish in every other aspect that it was a logical jump to assume sugar could curb a tantrum. It was less surprising that the sweet itself worked, and more surprising that Shizuo had, for once, responded as anticipated. Perhaps it was still par for the course, as Shizuo’s expected response was in itself unexpected? Izaya shook his head, almost wishing he could congratulate the brute on the beauty inherent in his self contradictions.

Though Shizuo was oddly compelling when his expression was so calm and open, Izaya was not in this for the aesthetics. For this reason, Izaya chose to sacrifice the small, peaceful moment with ObedientPuppy!Shizu in the interest of letting the blond approach the maitre d’, a move that would initiate a chain reaction to eat away any self restrain the imbecile may have. When the evening finally concluded in the firestorm of Shizuo’s temper, none of it would be directly at Izaya’s hands. _Scorn your way out of that one, Simon_.

“ _Bonsoir, monsieur_ ,” greeted the slim maitre d’ with a supercilious glance. Izaya had to fight back the giggle that rose in his throat. He was feeling the pleasant, anticipatory tingling that hit him with the opening move of a chess piece.

“Hi,” the idiot replied hesitantly. The maitre d’’s expression closed off completely. “I think we have a reservation?” Shizuo continued, casting an accusing glance back at Izaya for the rude treatment from the staff. Izaya affected a look of handsome nonchalance and awaited the maitre d’’s look of ill-hidden irritation.

“ _J'ai une reservation pour deux au nom d'Orihara_ (I have a reservation for two under the name of Orihara),” Izaya stated easily, enjoying the artistic contrast of Shizuo’s expression slowly sinking into a look of comprehending fury just as the maitre d’’s opened back up cordially. As if accepting some requisite code phrase, the door to the evening’s amusement swung open with the wide sweep of the maitre d’’s arm.

“ _Oui_. This way _messieurs_."

As they were led back to a quiet, candlelit table, Shizuo looped an arm around Izaya’s shoulders and nuzzled against his ear. It was incredibly difficult to discern what emotion was responsible for the subsequent shiver that went through the shorter man.

“I am going to _murder_  you if you don’t miraculously choke on your dinner of snails,” Shizuo whispered in a deep, sultry rumble. “I will make you scream in every damn language you know before I’m done with you too.”

Izaya ran his fingers through Shizuo’s hair, enjoying the absolute fraud in the gesture. “Kinky, sweetheart. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Shizuo patted Izaya “affectionately” on the head before unwinding his arm, sending out a charming smile, and taking a seat in the presented chair. Izaya’s eyes narrowed. It _couldn’t_  be. The man’s protozoan brain couldn’t handle basic social niceties. It was impossible he was actually scheming. It was _inconceivable_  that he had same agenda as Izaya for the evening. Izaya took a seat with a retaliating smile and a glance through his eyelashes. He would have to research this behavioral anomaly Shizuo was presenting him with.

“Monsieur, please pardon the observation, but you are bleeding from a slash in your shirt. Are you in need of medical attention?”Their pretty little waitress was all wide brown eyes and softly curling accent. Izaya hid his predatory smile as he dipped his head and unrolled his utensils from his napkin. _Ball’s in your court, Shizu-chan_.

Shizuo gave a theatrical sigh and sent a flirtatious look Izaya’s way. “I’m aware, thank you. My date stabbed me earlier this evening.” _The best lie is the truth? Admirable, oaf_. Izaya gleefully observed the response: the waitress blinked, squinted suspiciously, and turned to Izaya in quiet indignation. Poor soul probably thought Shizuo was making fun of her.

" _Désirez vous quelque chose à boire, monsieur_ (would you like something to drink)?"

Ah, apparently the benefit of spoken Japanese was contingent on the happiness of the staff. _This will be such a wondrous night_.

 _"La carte des vins_ _, _s'il vous plait_ (the list of wines pleases)._ _"_ Slightly appeased, the serveuse passed Izaya the wine list with a tentative smile. Skimming the list, Izaya settled on a bottle of expensive red with the full intention of leaving Shizuo to shoulder the tab. Nodding, she passed out the menus and disappeared into a back portion of the restaurant.

Izaya surreptitiously watched Shizuo muse over the selection written entirely in French. After a moment, the blond gave a quiet nod and closed the menu with a serene smile. There was a subtle sound of crinkling, and Izaya looked down to find his own fingers were clawing into the menu. Forcibly relaxing his hands, he closed his own menu.

“Already made you decision?” he asked cordially.

That bland smile on the brute’s face made him want to vomit.

“Yes, thank you.” _Goddamnit Shizu-chan_.

As the restaurant suffered a sudden influx of customers (all odd, noisy, and without a reservation) Izaya struggled to regain his own serenity and regarded the man before him. Shizuo was doing an odd flip-flop between looking incredibly awkward and shockingly suave. One moment, he was shooting off a fairly impressive smoldering look, while in the next he was clearing his throat uncomfortably and glancing aimlessly around the rest of the restaurant. A pity the man was such an idiotic, unpredictable nutcase. He was almost endearing when acting like this. Enough was enough, however. If they were going to play romantic chicken, Izaya had no intention of losing. Simon could damn well focus his efforts on the brute who actually needed the social lessons.

Quietly, Izaya extended his foot and ran it teasingly up the inside of Shizuo’s calf. The blond flushed and gave a dramatic start that sent a steak knife ricocheting into a nearby table where Ryuugamine-kun and Sonohara Anri were being seated. After Mikado’s manly squeak and Sonohara’s nervous glance at everything but the knife, the maitre d’ pulled the offending utensil out of the wood and shot off the look of disdain both Shizuo and Izaya were becoming familiar with. Shizuo’s head snapped back to glare at Izaya as the informant rested his chin in the palm of his hand and smirked playfully.

“Oopsies. You should be more careful next time, Shizu-chan.”

Izaya tried to decide if that flushed expression was embarrassment or rage, but was distracted when the waitress returned with their wine and to take their orders. Well, to take his order and “get the same” for Shizuo. Izaya grit his teeth in what he hoped was a convincing smile, wondering where exactly the blond had discovered this sudden wealth of common sense. Shizuo simply raised his wine glass in a mock salute and took a delicate sip. He even did an admirable job of hiding his grimace at the first taste of alcohol.

Izaya defensively fell back into a charming grin that clearly stated “why yes, I am having a splendid time and am no way bothered by the fact that you are acting completely out of character and mucking up all of my plans. _Why do you ask_?” It truth, his irritation was momentarily placed on the backburner as his eyes traced the clockwork weaving of the crowd in the restaurant. There was a cog in this machine that was unaccounted for, he realized as his expression remained a bland portrait. Nondescript men moved in and out of the establishment, being neither the exasperated staff nor the flood of Ikebukuro residents. Despite having the impenetrable Kevlar of his personal meat shield sitting just across the table from him, Izaya suddenly felt acutely exposed. In a world where information was the most devastating tool at his disposal, it was a sickening jolt to taste a plot he had no working knowledge of. He couldn’t even accurately say if it was he or Shizuo who was the target, or what being said target entailed. It was as he was slipping into brooding, contemplative state that his thoughts were completely derailed by a simple question.

“So, muffin, how was your day?”

Swearing he must have heard that wrong, Izaya’s attention shot back to Shizuo, only to catch a broad, handsome smile that had a pinch too much insanity to be called charming.

_Muffin?!_

“Kind of you to ask, snuzzles. It was fairly uneventful. I destroyed a couple of lives, manipulated a major corporation, and then counted all of my money before playing around on the internet a bit. I imagine yours was around the same?”

“I can’t say it was,” Shizuo countered. Izaya was a bit concerned if that vein in the blond’s forehead pulsed any harder, the man was going to give himself an aneurysm. “I had to deal with waste removal most of the day. I’m still taking out the trash.”

Izaya couldn’t help the genuine burst of laughter that caught the attention of most of the diners and elicited some clicking of cameras. A combination metaphor-pun! The brute never ceased to catch him by surprise.

“Perhaps we could give each other massages later to unwind,” Izaya murmured, leaning forward with a suggestive look. _And by “massage” I mean assault you with a meat tenderizer until you are a bleeding pile of human hamburger_.

“Mm.” Which translated roughly into _I would rather remove your skeleton and flay you with it_. Izaya was moderately charmed to find he and Shizuo were finally speaking the same language.

Before they could sweet talk each other any further, the waitress returned with an hors d’oeurve artistically arrayed on a heart shaped platter. She put the plate down with enough force to suggest the design was an insult to her sensibilities before stalking off without saying a word. Amused, Izaya glanced back to the plate just in time to see the blur of a heart shaped piece of toast slathered in a rich salmon dip as it was pressed against his lips. He once more glanced flirtatiously through his lashes and took a sensual bite that he really hoped came off as coy instead of “I wish this was your carotid I was biting through.”

Izaya chewed thoughtfully, enjoying the smooth, creamy texture of the salmon and the delicious tang of-

He stopped chewing abruptly.

Something was in this dish. He was momentarily struck by the absurdity of the situation, that he couldn’t tell if it was poison or a newfangled aphrodisiac. Did the still-unsighted Erika have better access to the kitchen than the nameless men? He couldn’t tell.

It was at this moment that he saw Shizuo going to take a bite of his own toast. Izaya had to make a decision on the edge of a second. Let Shizuo eat it in the hopes that a poison may actually be able to take him down? Or prevent him from eating it out of fear of having to cope with a violently aroused debt collector? The costs were higher than the benefits, Izaya concluded in that flash of a moment.

Quickly and carefully spitting the food into his napkin, Izaya snaked his hand out to catch Shizuo’s wrist right as the blond was going to take a bite. He answered Shizuo’s look of annoyed confusion by placing the hors d’oeurve back on the tray, cupping the other man’s face in the palm of his hand, and pressing the glass of wine to his lips. As cameras once more chattered around the restaurant, he wiped at a bit of stray wine on Shizuo’s lips with his thumb before placing the glass back on the table.

The blond sat in silence for several moments, wide eyed and cheeks bright pink as Izaya tried to figure out how to dispose of the tainted food. As he was thinking, Shizuo unsteadily pulled out a cigarette and, after seven failed attempts, managed to light it. He was able to pull in one shaky drag before Izaya’s eyes refocused, catching sight of the flaring embers at the end of the stick.

“Shizu-chan. Darling. Pumpkin. I deal with smokers all day. Be a dear and put that out.”

“Izaya-kun, my little,” his eyes scanned around the restaurant, “…baguette. No.”

“Oh you, stop joking around,” Izaya stated with a playful batting of his hand which “accidentally” caught the cigarette and sent it tumbling out of Shizuo’s mouth.

Shizuo’s smile was back in the range of borderline psychopath. “DUMPLING. I really don’t APPRECIATE THAT.” The blond caught both of Izaya’s hands in a gesture that would have been very sweet under any other circumstance. As it stood, one frustrated squeeze was all it took to cause several stress fractures to blossom along one of Izaya’s pinkies. He blanched, but otherwise refused to give Shizuo the satisfaction of knowing  _that really fucking hurt_.

As it would turn out, fate had his back on this one.

“Shizu-chan, your crotch is smoking.”

Shizuo shot him another psychotic smile. “Biscuit, do you have to be lewd at every hour of the day?”

“Stop calling me assorted baked goods. And on general principle, yes. I feel it prudent to mention the last statement was literal, however.” Shizuo glanced down and promptly burst into a frantic bout of flailing and swearing, having discovered the burning cigarette butt had struck up quite the rapport with his pants.

The ensuing “scuffle” that sent everyone in a three block radius running for cover marked the first (but not the last) they had ever had while one of them was trouserless.

* * *

 Simon was watching the television with a distracted frown as a news caster in Shinjuku reported on a skirmish from the previous night that had concluded in three blocks of destruction. Several cars were on fire in the street behind him, and off to the left a woman sobbed hysterically in the doorway of her apartment. It would hardly bear mentioning in Ikebukuro, but Shinjuku had less exposure to the chronic property damage that followed Shizuo around.

“THEY ARE HAVING SEX!” Erika proclaimed upon entering Russian Sushi. Simon blinked in surprise and turned from the television as the restaurant went silent for half a breath and then erupted into excited chatter.

“Right now?” He asked in confusion as Walker shuffled in behind the fujoshi, looking miserable.

“ _Probably_. I can’t say. We didn’t witness it, but they are totally sleeping together.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “They were _wearing matching shoe laces Simon_.”

Simon chewed his lip in worried thoughtfulness. “Is Japanese custom? Have sex, share shoe laces?”

“No,” Walker sighed. “No it is not. It is the conviction of a fangirl.”

Erika moved on to her next piece of evidence.

“That is just the START. Shizu-chan started the evening by daringly saving IzaIza’s life! And Shizu-chan lost his pants an hour and a half into the date!” Once more an excited murmur swept through all those present in Russian Sushi.

“Sounds promising,” Simon conceded warily.

“Extenuating circumstances. Like falling elevators and fire,” Walker confided as Erika started monologuing about true love amid a field of self-created sparkles.

“Heard there was good touching… how you say, flirtations?”

Erika waved that away. “Please, that was all a show. Everyone knows that canon material like that is just bait to the fans. But the way Shizu-chan growled Izayan’s name~ that was totally a bedroom voice~”

“Was actually disaster?” Simon questioned the male otaku.

Walker didn’t have to answer, as at that moment Izaya crashed bodily through the door in a tornado of splinters. He remained in an unmoving pile on the ground for several seconds before struggling up just in time to be pegged by a piece of door frame Shizuo had retrieved in the entrance. Cursing under his breath, Izaya pressed a hand against his bleeding scalp.

“Hi Simon. As you can see, we are in love. Can I go now?”

“Not much progress on property damage,” Simon observed, sending Shizuo a pointed look. “Come, sit,” he invited, gesturing to the sushi bar that was really starting to accrue negative connotations. Both regarded him with disbelieving looks. Simon’s voice became infinitely softer. “Come. Sit.” Izaya sat, and reflected on what the appropriate permutation of pussy-whipped would be. Russy-whipped? He snickered and received a punch to the back of his head for his efforts, likely more on general principle than Shizuo actually understanding his thought process. Because he momentarily lost vision in his right eye from the blow, he missed Simon’s disapproving frown. “Need more work. More dating. Maybe shoe-lace swapping sex.”

Shizuo decided to address this statement by letting his mouth gape. Izaya continued to bleed all over the counter. Even his blood seemed stunned. “ Shoe-lace-? You know what, fuck it, I don’t care. I can’t  _do this_.”

“I heard date was promising. Showed sparks.”

Shizuo finally broke his silence. “If by sparks you mean he lit my CROTCH ON _FIRE_.”

“Is that what kids are calling it these days?’ floated an anonymous comment from the back of the dining area. Shizuo lobbed a bar stool in that general direction.

Izaya’s voice held the sort of calm and quiet seriousness that was the best indication that he himself was about to blow a gasket. “It was karmatic justice for you breaking my finger, you entropic psychopath.”

Both men leapt to their feet as Izaya’s flick blade and Shizuo’s crushed chair sang a duet of promised violence. Simon massaged his temples.

“I said sit. Need to analyze how we make better for next time, no?”

Izaya grudgingly took a seat, frowning deeply at the blond. “We improve the next date by not inviting Shizu-chan.”

“Need I remind you I saved your worthless life? You were dangling by my leg! I still blame you for the fact I was stuck in your shaft!”

There was hesitant scattered applause. “Get your minds out of the gutter!” Shizuo shouted at the ceiling in exasperation.

“I will grant you, it is the best date I’ve ever had that started with me falling down an elevator shaft and ended with a broken finger, a charge of arson, and being made witness to a case of indecent exposure. Oh, and the fortune. Nice touch Simon. There is nothing more subtle than receiving a fortune cookie in a French restaurant. The fact the fortune was in Russian made it particularly difficult to figure out where it came from.” Izaya dug around in his pocket with his good hand. _“Ot malen'koy iskry bol'shoy pozhar byvayet_ (A little spark can cause a big fire). Hah, not only is it deliciously ironic, it even works with the “in bed” game! Well done Simon! I think it was only made better by the fact it was thrown at me as our waitress was fleeing the burning building, slightly before Shizu-chan ripped out the last weight-bearing pillar. Simply beautiful.”

Shizuo, who had clearly had enough with trying to guess Russian phrases, was busy drawing a dog in Izaya’s blood on the counter top with a straw.

Simon regarded the two of them, and reflected on how, despite his dark history, two men had never been so close to getting him to cry.

“Okay. This is how will go. You both- come to Russian Sushi- have _chaperoned_  date. Kadota-san and his crew help. Bring dates as well- show how to be properly lovey.”

“Wait, what?” a stunned man in a beanie asked in the silence, and was promptly ignored.

“Two days from now. You BE here.”

Izaya’s head hit the counter top. Shizuo was apparently distracted by something shiny.

“ _Sam pogibay, a tovarischa vyruchay_ (Save your friends, even if you die)” Simon muttered hopelessly to himself, wishing he could be less of a decent person for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks goes to anons back in the day who helped me with my horrendous French :)


	2. Date 2: Fiery Bugaloo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Izaya needs better "friends", Shizuo needs a better brother, and Simon needs to be much more careful in what he wishes for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some spoilers on Ruri's character, if you are not up-to-speed on season 2!

Izaya reclined back in his chair with a jackal’s grin, admiring his handiwork. A few well placed webs of rumor were backlit by the nearly eerie glow of his screen as his cursor blinked like a challenge. Already a few brave souls were nibbling at the bait, and he allowed himself a satisfied sigh. At the very least, this would run interference on the attempts on his life. At best, it would draw out the perpetrator before sparking a beautiful explosion of chaos that would burn through an obscenely large number of people, Shizuo first and foremost.

If, in the interim between coordinating information leaks, he found time to send several forceful and diseased hookers to Russian Sushi to pay Simon an unpleasant conjugal visit while a separate regime played low-grade arson with Erika’s favorite manga shop… well, they should have anticipated collateral damage when they started this whole absurd matchmaker business. Sometimes Izaya had to sit back and just admire how diabolical he was.

“Shouldn’t you be off canoodling with your new boyfriend by now?” Izaya swung his gaze to Namie, who stood dispassionately tapping her manicured nails against her arm. Behind her, the disaster zone that had previously been his coffee table was sporting a new collection of organized and color coded binders. It was humorous how innocuous they appeared.

“For a woman prone to impromptu speeches of love, you’d think you’d be a bit more sympathetic over my being forced into a relationship against my will,” he responded dryly. In the back of his mind, he filed the binders into his mental arsenal, noting the color patterns Namie had designated for each (an aesthetic scheme on par with her fashion sense, he reflected with a derisive glance towards that _unique_  sweater of hers).

The stoic woman gave an indelicate snort. “Please. You’ve been pulling Heiwajima’s pig-tails for years. This is your own fault, you aggravating man. By the way, here.” She tossed a small box over to him that, to his dawning horror, turned out to be condoms ( _ribbed_  no less). He opened his mouth wordlessly, but she was already speaking once more. “With your megalomaniac tendencies, I wouldn’t be surprised if you thought a pretty face was enough to ward off gonorrhea. I refuse to play nurse if you contact some disgusting disease.”

Izaya smiled broadly purely out of defensive reflex. He couldn’t decide which was more disturbing: that Namie had called him handsome (albeit in a left-handed, STD-oriented manner), or that she thought condoms were a necessary precaution when it came to his relationship with Shizuo. It was in these instances that he felt he and Shizuo were reading a radically different script from the rest of the populace.

“We’re not-“

“I don’t want the details,” she cut over the top of him. “Just… don’t do anything that will make you even more a revolting human being than you already are.”

He shook his head and continued to smile before standing and lifting a pea coat off the nearby stand (disappointingly devoid of fur. Damn Shizu-chan and his destructive tendencies). “That sounds like an endearing personalization of “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” I’m touched, Namie-san. So much so that I won’t even ask if these are from your personal stash that you never got the chance to use.” He was able to close the door right before there was a muted shattering on the other side. He cocked his head, deciding that was probably his Chihuly vase. He was taking that out of her paycheck, he decided with a grin.

Taking the stairs -he had developed something of an aversion to elevators lately- Izaya gave his watch a brief glance and started whistling a carefree tune. Forced liaisons and attempts on his life aside, Izaya finally had the comforting weight of information back in his grasp. It was astounding how much this improved his mood. So much so that he could admit he was actually looking forward to the night. A bit. He couldn’t deny that an evening with Shizu-chan was bound to be more interesting than staring at his computer screen in any case.

Exiting his apartment building, he took a deep breath of the crisp fall air and regarded the starscape of corporate lights. His grin split the crowds around him as he struck out towards Ikebukuro.

* * *

Ruri had been in a fair share of odd situations. Being a national icon that moonlighted as a monstrous serial killer didn’t exactly lend itself to a stereotypical set of life experiences. Still, even she had to appreciate how incredibly odd it was to be standing in this tiny apartment next to her potential love interest, watching as his brother (and coincidentally her most terrifying opponent to date) paced and fretted like a teen on the night of a school dance. It was difficult to say what was more humorous- Kasuka attempting to be placating while staying in monotone, or Shizuo absentmindedly picking up and setting down random objects he encountered during his pacing as he ranted to his brother and the other man in the room. It was kind of endearing, when she was able to block out the memory of the bench clobbering her into the horizon.

The aforementioned other man, sporting an impressive collection of dreadlocks, kept trying to covertly return the various objects to their proper place as he talked Shizuo through this apparent emotional crisis.

“You didn’t see it, Tom-san,” Shizuo lamented for what had to be the fourteenth time that night. He punctuated the statement by absently setting a bottle of tarragon down on top of the television before shuffling off to prod some picture frames. “I kept my temper for almost the entire night, and it didn’t even faze him. Every single time I thought I had finally broken his cool, the bastard would just smile serenely like I had played right into his hand.”

Tom, in an admirable show of patience, returned the tarragon to the spice rack and repeated what he had been saying for most of the evening. “Izaya is exceptionally talented at deception, Shizuo. You no doubt _were_  getting to him, he was just smiling as a defense mechanism. Just keep acting like the mature one, and he is bound to crack first.”

Shizuo shuffled by and shoved a throw pillow into Ruri’s hands.

“I can’t just keep doing this indefinitely as the Flea laughs it off! Just that stupid grin is enough to piss me off, but I have to put up with an entire night of his stupid chatter, all while the other guys will be all lovely dovey with their stupid dates. Auuugh! I hate this!”

Ruri forfeited the pillow to Tom, who placed it back on the couch quietly. “Was there any part of the date you enjoyed?” she asked softly, feeling as if she should make a token effort to help even if she didn’t really understand why she was here. Who knew she would be playing emotional therapist to the only human who could seriously do her damage?

“Of course not!” Shizuo snapped, and she couldn’t help the small flinch. Beside her, Kasuka raised an eyebrow minutely at his brother.

Shizuo sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. In that brief instant where he wasn’t scowling, she could see the shocking resemblance between the brothers. It was a surreal moment, before rage darkened Shizuo's features once more.

“Look… sorry. It’s just. It’s the _Flea_. How am I supposed to enjoy anything that involves him? The only satisfaction he gives me is the glee I get from spilling his blood.”

If Ruri’s personality would allow it, and if she were talking to a different man, she could have retaliated with something shockingly lewd. Instead, she shrugged quietly. “Well, at least you enjoy that. So it is a bit of a win-win situation. If you keep your temper, you will eventually prove to the sushi chef you two are simply incompatible. If not, each date gives you the opportunity to take out some of your stress on your enemy. This way you don’t even have to go looking for him, right?”

Shizuo blinked once, stared at her for a moment, and then broke in to one of the most adorable grins she had ever seen. _Wow_. Simultaneously, Kasuka was shooting her an impressed look. Either that or he was zoning out. It was a bit difficult to tell (he looked devastatingly handsome, regardless). Despite spending most of her working hours around ridiculously attractive people, it was a bit overwhelming being double-teamed by the Heiwajima brothers.

Tom rescued her from what could have been an incredibly embarrassing response. “An excellent point. Try to use these dates to exercise your control, but if it doesn’t work out, you still have an outlet for your frustration! Oh, by the way,” Tom fished around in his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper, “I have the translations you requested.”

Shizuo’s mood appeared to be on the rise as he took the proffered sheet with a small smile and a grateful nod. “Thanks Tom-sempai. This will definitely help as well. Where did you end up-“

The doorbell rang, interrupting them, and Ruri felt her eyebrows dip into a small frown. The fact she and Kasuka were out in the general public meant that Shizuo’s entire apartment complex was crawling with security. Who could have made it through?

Six people, as it would turn out. She would have to chat with the head of security about that.

Shizuo opened the door to reveal a stressed looking man with slicked back hair and rather prominent eyebrows, standing, curiously enough, next to the black rider. Celty was out of the regular riding gear and in a stunning black cocktail dress, and was even sporting a more discreet black helmet, wrapped in a scarf. On the other side of her stood an equally stressed and territorial-looking doctor, who appeared torn between shooting irate glares at the first man and staring worshipfully at the black rider. Behind the three of them were what appeared to be two cosplayers, one blonde and one dark-haired, sporting outfits that looked like they had crawled out of a medieval aristocracy. Bringing up the rear of the odd party was a man with longer hair and… her. Well, a cardboard cutout of Ruri anyway. Awkward.

As could only be expected when such an eclectic group of ten people were thrown together, pandemonium blossomed.

“Celty, you look very nice-“

“Shizuo, I will _cut you_  if you start hitting on my Cel-“

“Yuuri, do we really have to spend our time with the peasants? I would much rather spend it alone with my betrothed-“

“For the last time Wolfram, we aren’t engaged-“

“Asfdjkhkdsjlhfkjlhsdkfjhdaskjhfdakjdhskjsdhkljfhdskjhf-“ the long haired man had caught sight of Ruri and seemed to slip into a state of hyperexcitability that bordered on a seizure. He also burst into hysterical tears, to her growing alarm.

“I’ll just be going-“

“Thanks for your help, Tom-san. Shinra, why are you even-“

[We should all get going if we don’t want to be late]

“-lsadfjhkgasdhjkhdfklsdjha-“

“Brother, we should be taking our leave as well.”

“Right, of course. Thank you for coming, Kasuka.”

“You wound me Yuuri! Are you cheating on me?”

“I have defend my Celty’s virtue!”

“-dsajklfhkldjshfkjdshkajhfdslkjhdf-“

Tom was the first to escape, slipping quietly past the blonde cosplayer who was intent on molesting his- her- protesting date. The man with the slicked back hair gave the retreating debt collector an envious look.

Ruri gave a small start when Kasuka’s hand slipped gently to the small of her back, guiding her out into the hallway after he had quietly pressed a bag into Shizuo’s hands. She indulged in an internal smile, stepping over the pile of drool from the last man in the hall and casting one final glance back at Kasuka’s brother. Shizuo stood regarding the remaining group with an odd medley of irritation and depression. The scene was so at odds with the first time she had encountered him that it was difficult to believe he was the same person.

Kasuka gave a gentle squeeze to her waist, and she was suddenly flooded with an odd, warm sensation she had never experienced before. It compelled her to glance sidelong at her companion, appreciate his fine profile, and send a silent prayer for Shizuo’s night. Her relationship with the stoic actor was practically textbook quality compared to that little cesspit of disaster. She shifted a bit closer to Kasuka as they slowly acquired their security detail, and let the small smile crack her usually melancholic veneer as a drifting “-dsafjdkjhfkjdshkjhfsd-“ chased them into the elevator.

* * *

Shizuo could not believe he was actually glad to see Russian Sushi.

After Kasuka, Tom, and the girl had left, things had just gone downhill. The now-blonde Erika had proceeded to rip half of Walker’s fancy clothes off, Shinra had threatened Kadota at syringe-point for shifting within the predetermined half meter chastity circumference of Celty, and Saburo had remained locked in drooling and twitching paroxysms until the half-naked Walker had stabbed him with the same syringe, conveniently filled with valium.

Shizuo could fully admit he didn’t have much dating experience (the Flea’s fault. _Always_  the Flea’s fault) but he couldn’t really see how this situation was teaching him anything about romance.

Perhaps worst of all was the crippling sense of isolation that was pillaging his emotional state. Generally he could at least find some solace in Kasuka’s unflappable presence, but Shizuo wasn’t feeling too sunny towards his sibling at the moment either. Kasuka’s “thoughtful” parting gift had turned out to be a bottle of milk, a box of extra strength condoms, and “The Modern Man’s Guide to Homosexual Kama Sutra”. No man should receive such a gift from his little brother. No _human_ should receive such a gift from _Kasuka_. Three nearby sports cars had suffered the brunt of the freak-out that tiny bag had elicited. Erika proceeded to discuss the merits of page 37 with “Yuuri”.

Shizuo blamed these particularly traumatizing circumstances for the jolt of pseudo-relief he felt at seeing Izaya lounging outside of Russian Sushi. The Flea cut a particularly dashing image, if you were into scrawny men watching traffic with a sort of brooding, artistic misery amid the neon halo of city nightlife. Which Shizuo wasn’t, for the record.

Izaya also happened to be _smoking_ , and wasn’t that just a fucking riot.

“Oooh, Shizu-chan, Iza-Iza is small enough and flexible enough that page 92 might be a good star-“ Walker clapped a hand over Erika’s mouth and shot Shizuo a queasy, apologetic grin. The damage had been done, however, as Izaya’s attention had been snapped away from the flowing traffic and focused on the mobile, conglomerated disaster approaching him.

“Sex on the second date? How easy do you think I am?” There was something almost harried in his eyes, but the Flea glanced down at the book Erika was holding before Shizuo could identify what exactly that expression meant. “Oya? You come prepared! You may just whoo me yet, Shizu-chan!”

Moved beyond any sort of vocal coherency, Shizuo simply stole the other man’s cigarette and puffed in furious silence. Blessed be nicotine, even if the Flea was smoking the wimpy flavored shit. Erika somehow managed to sound like a cheerfully wounded woodland creature.

Ignoring both the cigarette theft and the chants of _indirect kiss! Indirect kiss!_ , Izaya turned his attention towards his other two classmates. “Yo, Dotachin, Shinra. Though come to think of it, were you even invited Shinra? Or are you a necessary precaution for our dates now? I have to tell you, you are much more realistic than the other forms of protection that have been hoisted on me tonight.” And Shizuo of course interpreted that in the worse possible way, _goddamn Kasuka_. The Flea probably meant something completely innocuous, but now Shizuo was automatically linking Izaya with condoms and- _Brain, you shut right the fuck up_.

“I’m here because some _idiot_  decided to ask out my future wife. I have to ensure nothing untoward happens!” Shizuo blinked. What did that have to do with condoms? Oh, right. They were talking about Shinra.

“God  _DAMN_  Kasuka!” The group blinked at the apparent non sequitur before resuming the conversation.

“We are going as _friends_ ,” Kadota stated in the sort of tone that indicated he had said the same thing at least twenty times already. “I didn’t want to drag any of the girls I am actually interest in into this, and all of the girls who approached _me_ after hearing about the arrangement were psychotic.”

“I liked them!” Erika chirped.

“Anyway, Celty seemed like the safest bet.”

“Except you didn’t think to ask _me_ -“ Shinra started before Celty punched him in the side of the head.

[Because it is not your decision!]

“Ah! Welcome, welcome! Why standing in street?” Simon towered in the entrance, beaming largely as if he were compensating for the general feeling of unrest in the group. “Come in, come in!” 

As one miserable clog of people, they moved forward, only to be halted by Simon’s disapproving frown. “No, we are doing proper. We are showing good date.” He stared down the group until Erica leapt forward, latching on to Walker’s neck.

“Come on, my betrothed!”

“For the last time, we aren’t betrothed!”

“Stop resisting me! You are my fiancé!”

The two entered a mutual headlock and tumbled into the restaurant. Simon spared them a depressed look before turning towards Kadota.

“Erm. Celty, if you would accompany me…?” He asked, holding out an arm. Celty took it graciously, before Shinra latched on to her other side. Simon squinted suspiciously and watched as the three awkwardly squeezed through the door, stumbling a bit as Shinra kicked out Kadota’s heel and all three were dragged through the blunder by virtue of their linked arms. Celty gave Shinra another punch for good measure.

Looking thoroughly exasperated, Simon looked back to Saburo and instantly deflated upon catching sight of the cardboard cutout.

“Come along, Ruri my love. We have a wonderful evening planned. I will be sure to cater to your every need.” He waltzed through the door, staring lovingly into two dimensional eyes the entire journey.

“Actually, not bad,” Simon murmured, sounding slightly confused. He turned back to Izaya and Shizuo. “You mimic that last one.” They stood in a disbelieving silence for several moments before Simon smiled and narrowed his eyes.

Shizuo gave an irritated sigh and ground the cigarette under his heal. “Come along Flea, we have a shitastic night ahead of us where I might or might not kill you, depending on how much you piss me off.”

“Oh Shizu-chan, you silver tongued demon,” Izaya simpered back, looping his arm around the taller man. Shizuo had to fight back a laugh as he felt the soft prick of a knife between his ribs, more comforting in its normalcy than any caress could have managed. He applied a lightly bruising pressure to Izaya’s waist as they sauntered into the restaurant, grinning at the silent laughter he felt shiver through the smaller man.

Dennis greeted them upon their entrance (if “you will NOT burn this restaurant down” constituted a proper greeting) before Shizuo could come to grips with the abrupt change of scenery. Russian Sushi was decked out like a discount Eden. All of the extra tables had been cleared away, leaving the main dining area to sport something of a makeshift arboretum, exploding with various potted plants. While not exactly _matching_ , they did make the area very lush. The center of the restaurant even boasted a small fountain (really, how much did Simon invest in this, and _who was funding it_?).

Adding to the overall atmosphere was the fact that all of the overhead lamps were off, leaving ambient lighting solely to the flickering candles lining the walls. As they made their way to the glowing table in one of the back private rooms, Shizuo had to admit that it _was_ a bit romantic, barring present company.

The others had already seated themselves by the time Izaya and Shizuo made it to the table. Just as they were preparing to sit, Izaya slipped his arm back from Shizuo’s waist and took a quick detour to frisk Shizuo’s back pocket. Erika, the only one at the table who had caught the movement, promptly hid her nose behind a napkin.

It would simply be a waste of breath to inform her Izaya had just filched his wallet, so Shizuo instead opted for a more effective response.

“IZAAAAAAAAAAA-“

Shizuo’s raised fist was abruptly caught midair as Simon materialized at his side. The Russian then proceeded to point a finger right between his eyes with a firm “NO.” Before Izaya could glean any sort of amusement from the situation, Simon caught his wrist as well, yanked the pilfered wallet out of his hand, and bopped him on the head with it. “NO.”

Feeling remarkably like a dog being reprimanded for urinating on the carpet, Shizuo glowered at the wall and seethed at the ridiculousness that had become his life.

“BAD. We are being courteous. Apologize, then sit.”

Fed up with the entire situation, Shizuo turned, plastered a terrifying grin onto his face, and dipped into a courteous bow as he took a stunned Izaya’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “I am sorry you are a grabby little bastard. I will try harder to find you less of an ass in the future.”

“Why Shizu-chan,” Izaya simpered, “that is possibly the sweetest-“

Shizuo retracted his hand, taking a ring with it. He never claimed he wasn’t petty.

Izaya’s gaze turned homicidal.

“Off to such good start! See? Is already better!” Simon praised, clapping them each on the shoulder.

“No. Is _not_ already better,” Izaya growled, clearly about half a second away from making the flick blade visible. “Give it ba-ah-achooo!”

A slow, warm delight crept through Shizuo as Izaya tried to turn a look of consternation and betrayal on himself.

“Why don’t you take a seat, _sweetie_?” Shizuo murmured, pocketing the ring and feeling far more entertained than he had any right to. “We wouldn’t want you to exhaust yourself in your _delicate condition_.”

“Oh, you can go straight to he-“ Wherever Shizuo was supposed to go was drowned out by an impressive fit of sneezing that actually caused Izaya to tumble into his seat. His sheer indignation made Shizuo wish he had brought a camera for the occasion. In the corner, Saburo covered paper-Ruri’s nose and mouth protectively.

Giving a pleased hum, Shizuo took his seat as well, so amused by Suddenly Allergies that he didn’t even mind the seating arrangement.

“Tissue?” He asked politely, offering a napkin and fighting back laughter as an irate and red-nosed Izaya glared back at him.

“Don’t you dare enjoy this, you son of a bitch. This is supposed to be an exercise in mutual suff-uh-uh-“ and off he went again. Shizuo had finally discovered something that actually shut Izaya up. It was like Christmas had come early. He wasn’t the only one enjoying this turn of events either. Celty was quaking with her silent laughter as Walker and Erika started cooing over the romantic potential of sneezing (Shizuo had given up trying to make sense of their ramblings ages ago).

“Yeah, laugh it up,” Izaya growled, though he really didn’t _look_ too put out about being the center of attention. “Fucking ficus.”

Izaya’s respiratory disaster seemed to be just the ice breaker the evening needed. As Simon went around taking drink orders, the previously uncomfortable atmosphere melted into group wide amusement.

“Who knew the Great Informant of Tokyo’s kryptonite would be fig trees? It is so unexpected, yet so poetic!” Walker proclaimed. “What great secret are you hiding Shizuo-san? A weakness for kittens?”

“That’s no secret,” Izaya muttered, wiping at his watering eyes as Shizuo flushed in embarrassment. He had been pretty sure that _was_  a secret actually, but it was no surprise at all that Izaya somehow knew it. The laughter was renewed before Celty rescued Shizuo with her own confession.

[Mine would be the grey men! Scary!]

As simple as that, they started a table wide competition of weaknesses, trying to one-up each other as loves and phobias became more and more obscure. It took Shizuo a few minutes to realize what was so surreal about the situation.

He was content.

He was surrounded by the warm laughter of friends, had Izaya sedate (read: in respiratory distress) at his side, and could honestly relax into the evening. He hadn’t expected date number two to actually be enjoyable.

Shizuo shook his head to clear these introspective thoughts from his mind, and turned his attention back to the conversation. At present, Izaya was wheezing a guilt trip at Shinra.

“Care to contribute some of your medical store to the ailing, sensei? Didn’t you take some oath about easing human suffering? It is wanton cruelty to watch my distress without comment.”

“You are such a drama queen. I took no such oath, by the way- it’s an added perk of being an illegitimate doctor, as I am sure you know Izaya-kun. And what do you think I am, a walking pharmacy? It’s not like I have an arsenal of medication on me at all times,” he noted dryly before completely contradicting himself and reaching into his bag. Pulling forth some pills, Shinra paused, an odd expression caught between curiosity and amusement lighting his face. “I should really just give you a sugar pill and see if the placebo effect gets you through it.”

“So cruel Shinra! Your bedside manner really leaves something to be desired.”

“That’s not what Celty said last n- ow! Ow ow ow ow ow! Celty my honey, not so rough in front of other peop- ow! What do you mean that sounded suggestive? Even the blind can see our lov- ow!”

Erika shoved Shinra off of her section of the table, where he had folded over in a convulsion of pain and destitution, before she leaned forward conspiratorially. “Ne, ne, we should definitely bring the conversation back to relationships though. Is it true you have never had a girlfriend, Shizu-chan?”

Izaya simply popped the pills Shinra had given him and watched out of the corner of his eye. Shizuo was too busy feeling embarrassed at such a probing question to get irritated over the Flea’s knowing smirk. “Um…”

“Well, to be fair, neither has Izaya,” Shinra noted, straightening his tie and glasses. The weight of the entire room’s gaze swung towards Izaya, who had the briefest moment of looking utterly betrayed before he was once more laughing and batting away Shinra’s comment.

“I had plenty of girls who were willing. Simply stated, for all of my love of humanity, there are very few _individuals_ I like.”

“It’s pretty notable that you’ve stuck with Shizuo for so many years then, right?” Kadota seemed more surprised than the rest of the room combined that he had spoken up, and promptly made a concentrated effort to camouflage himself as a piece of furniture.

His comment had already taken hold, however, as Erika clapped her hands eagerly. “A match made in heaven, and found on earth!”

“Two souls, cursed to a life of loneliness and isolation until they found each other to cling to in the vast and terrifying sea of humanity!” This just went to prove what a bad influence Erika was on Walker. Her delusions were rubbing off on him, to the point where he was ignoring the usual self-preservation he exercised around Shizuo.

“You’ve spent too long with your nose in those ridiculous novels-“ Izaya started before the tik-tak of Celty’s typing grabbed the group’s attention.

[Well, in their own unique way, they do seem to make each other happy…]

If Shizuo had been well read enough, he probably would have been throwing out some Judas or Brutus quotes at this point. Not knowing those particular references, however, he settled for simply feeling utterly betrayed.

Celty was spared the brunt of his wounded puppy look by being distracted by the murmured agreements of the rest of the group. That is, except Saburo, who was assuring paper-Ruri that he loved her more than Shizuo could ever love Izaya. Erika looked scandalized.

Shizuo shifted his attention back to his date, seeing as Izaya was the only one making any fucking sense at that moment (and how messed up was that statement?). Well, he _had_ been the only one making sense, but the general commotion in the room seemed to have rekindled his inner jerk, as Izaya chose that moment to latch on to Shizuo’s arm and stare up and him with wide, adoring eyes.

“It looks like they have seen through our act pookie. At last, we can stop pretending and publicly confess to our love!”

Really. This was what Shizuo’s life had become. As Erika demonstrated her complete inability to identify sarcasm and started fanflailing, Izaya snuggled further into his side and the rest of the table broke out into renewed laughter. Shizuo was contemplating how to send the Flea into the nearest wall without getting reprimanded by Simon when he heard the icing on the cake.

“Is very good, Izaya!” Simon proclaimed, prompting Izaya to chatter back something in Russian, clearly for the sheer fact that he could. This sparked an animated conversation that was completely unintelligible to Shizuo, though he knew he was the subject of it.

It was as the Flea was making increasingly suspect hand gestures and Simon’s expression was darkening that Shizuo whipped out the sheet of paper Tom had brought him earlier, finally feeling some vindication after being out of the loop for so long.

“Ya vas panimayu. (I understand you)”

The Flea froze, his eyes slowly widening as he turned his head ever so slightly towards Shizuo. Encouraged by the now-carefully blank expression, Shizuo’s grin grew. It was time to deliver the carefully crafted diatribe he had requested.

“Ya khochu tebya. Khochesh’, ya sdelayu tebe massazh? Odeny’ prezervativ. Stan’ moey zhenoy!” (I want you. Would you like a massage? Let’s use a condom. Be my wife!)

_Nailed it._

Throughout the majority of the evening, the owner of the sushi shop had been quietly and unsuccessfully trying to drink himself into a state of unconsciousness. This point was only relevant to the current situation because, upon hearing Shizuo’s proclamation, Dennis for whatever reason spewed an entire mouth full of liquid out in an incredulous guffaw. By this point in the evening, he was guzzling an impressive proof, so that when the exhaled spray shot across the mood lighting, it took on something of a blowtorch effect.

If it was a bit suspicious that the restaurant ignited so quickly with a bit of flaming spittle, no one cottoned on to the fact- they were too busy watching as gouts of flame licked across their table to ignite Erika’s wig in a worrying plume of greenish grey smoke. Shizuo simply enjoyed the utter horror playing across Izaya’s features.

He was distantly aware of the fact that Simon was shouting something, and that Shinra and Kadota had just gone down in a pile of misplaced chivalry trying to protect Celty from the mounting flames. Something a bit more volatile caught fire and decided to explode, carpeting the dining area in flaming chunks of debris. Fire skittered up the walls, casting a sickly orange glow on the churning smoke that was rapidly filling the restaurant.

Izaya and Shizuo, hair blowing with the subsequent explosions of what were probably vodka bottles, stayed locked in their stare-down.

The otakus fled from the building, shouting about ruined outfits as they navigated the flaming labyrinth of potted plants. Simon was breaking pipes in an effort to spray the blaze. Shinra punched Kadota in the face with a beer mug before grabbing Celty’s wrist and sprinting for safety. Saburo, who was much more attentive towards his date and her considerable inflammability, had vacated with the first sparks. Only Izaya and Shizuo were completely motionless, watching the literal fire reflected in each other’s eyes- until Shizuo hit Izaya in the face with a dinner platter.

“What the _fuck_ Shizu-chan?” Izaya picked himself up slowly from where he had been knocked across the floor. He absently removed his left shoe, which had caught on fire.

Shizuo shrugged. “Shit’s burning,” punctuated with a blasé brushing at his shoulder to remove the flaming frond that had collapsed there and was slowly eating its way through his shirt. “I figured that was our cue that we are allowed to fight each other again.”

Izaya spent one moment looking at Shizuo like he was an utter moron (it was an expression Shizuo was intimately familiar with), before his look turned into something more contemplative.

“Actually, this does seem like the perfect opportunity to call it a night.” The flick blade clicked open quietly at his side, reflected flames dancing along its honed edge. It was, Shizuo could admit around the heady sensation of adrenalin, a beautiful sight.

Shizuo felt the first truly sincere grin of the evening split across his face as he leapt over the table-turned-pyre to meet Izaya’s opening slash.

* * *

When all was said and done, Russian Sushi was a smoldering skeleton of a building, the residents of the surrounding five blocks had evacuated in a calm and orderly fashion, and the Department of Heiwajima Urban Destruction had been alerted that their services were once more required.

At present an eerie silence filled the area, only punctuated by the periodic splintering of a collapsing rafter or the creak of support beams developing stress fractures. It had a nice, domestic, post-apocalyptic feel in Izaya’s humble opinion. He had a prime vantage point of the destruction from where he lay in the middle of a decimated alley, though the burning landscape was really just a mental aside. His main focus was contemplating if voluntary movement was strictly necessary for the remainder of his adult life. This oddly Zen outlook was a direct result of eleven straight hours of fighting with Shizuo- a personal record that was simultaneously the most invigorating and most awful decision of his life (if his sprained _everything_ was any indication).

Generally, being rendered immobile would be a point of considerable concern, but Shizuo was thankfully in a similarly useless heap nearby. Aside from the disconcerting chuckles he kept shooting off, the blond appeared pretty content to remain inanimate.

The third and final inhabitant of the alley had been forced back to the scene by his enraged girlfriend and her demands that he break up the fight. Shinra had failed spectacularly at this, when only twenty minutes into the skirmish that looked like a cross between Armageddon and a circus performance, he managed to get caught under a distorted chunk of rebar. As it stood, he appeared to be a component of a particularly insightful and provocative piece of modern art.

Several minutes of destructive silence passed in the hazy predawn light before a chilling drizzle opened over the three of them.

“You personify everything I hate,” Izaya reflected rhetorically at the Shizuo-pile, delighted to find some muscles were still operational, even if they were only the ones in his larynx. The statement had come out a bit more light-hearted than was merited, but he was still pretty giddy from all of the endorphins that were hosting a sweet rave in his bloodstream.

“Your face is enough to send me into a blind rage,” the Shizuo-pile muttered back after a period of silence. This too was underscored by an unnecessary amount of cheer in his voice.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Shinra contributed woefully.

Izaya couldn’t help the grin that split across his face. Flipping over despite the agonized protest of his muscles, he caught sight of Shizuo grinning maniacally back at him, blond hair wicking up water from a muddy puddle near his cheek.

“I dream of carving you into pieces and watching you bleed out like a pig,” Izaya purred. Shizuo’s pupils swelled.

“ _I_ dream of tearing off each of your appendages and then beating you to death with them,” was his husky riposte.

“I am definitely cataloging some worrying nerve deficits,” Shinra continued to mutter in the background.

A siren was echoing a few streets down, and Izaya very nearly burst into a fit of giggles. If he and Shizuo had a song, it would probably be a police siren. He narrowly resisted stating that someone was playing their song, because he had a suspicion that it made a lot more sense in his head.

“This was nice,” he stated casually instead, and was surprised to find that he meant it. “We should do it again sometime.”

Shizuo let out a quiet snort. “Yeah, best. Date. Ever.”

They regarded each other silently for about three seconds before breaking out into peals of hysterical laughter, half choked by their ragged breathing and protesting diaphragms.

“This has got to be the most perverse love proclamation in human history. I kind of want to vomit, but that may just be an effect of my blood loss. I’m serious, I think I’m going into hypovolemic shock.”

Shinra’s complaints were blocked out by their increasingly asthmatic sounding laughter.

When they finally shuddered to a halt with tapered groans of pain several minutes later, Shinra was doing his best to broadcast a patented Exasperated Parent look. The effect was somewhat marred by the fact that one of his feet was up near his shoulder and the piece of rebar that was worryingly close to his face kept making him go cross-eyed. He was not one to be deterred by such minor things, however, so he plowed ahead with a suitably patronizing speech. “I legitimately want to give both of you a psych evaluation. I have some serious doubts about your neurotransmitter levels. For all I know of your mental and emotional health, this was practically foreplay for you two.”

Izaya flopped his head over to look in Shinra’s direction. Sweaty, panting, and pupils blown wide, he wasn’t doing much to deter that claim. “Shinra, for once your inane ramblings hold a spark of utter genius. Shizu-chan, I have a cunning plan. It is time for an armistice.”

Shizuo snorted at the odd term, which really only succeeded in blowing bubbles in his cheek-puddle. “Arm what now?”

Izaya huffed a fond sigh. “The amount of stupid you cart around with you is almost endearing. You’re like a blind puppy that continuously runs into walls. Armistice: putting our squabbles aside in the name of a common goal. Bonding over common ground. Perhaps even building our relationship to the point of exchanging gifts, such as dictionaries.”

He could hear Shizuo’s teeth grinding from several feet away. “Is this how you start all your friendships?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Shinra contributed, proving he had not yet passed out from blood loss. More was the pity.

* * *

Several days later, they met back up at Russian Sushi. More accurately, they met back up inside Russian Sushi’s charred remains, where Simon had hastily constructed a tent composed of three umbrellas and seven discount tarps. It was furnished with two step stools, a dapper lawn chair, and a pink plastic table that looked like it had be jacked from a little girl’s tea party. Nonetheless, Simon insisted on meeting under these inauspicious conditions “for tradition’s sake”.

“No need to ask how went.” Simon stated flatly when they both arrived.

“You don’t know that,” Izaya replied happily. “You didn’t stay for the after party!”

Simon looked unimpressed. “You burnt down more restaurant. _My_ restaurant.”

“Hey,” Shizuo shrugged serenely. “Not our fault. Totally not our fault. We didn’t start that one.”

“Shizu-chan is absolutely right. In fact, all of the damage to Russian Sushi was a direct result of either Dennis or yourself.” Izaya and Shizuo shared a wide grin.

Simon was almost morose enough to miss the look, but at the last moment he did a double take, eyeing them suspiciously.

“Okay… how was after party?”

“Well,” Shizuo drew out the word thoughtfully. “We actually had a pretty good time.” Going off of Izaya’s advice, he was completely truthful, if vague, in his elaboration. “When it was just the two of us, I couldn’t deny the fact I wanted to get my hands all over him. By the end of the night, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. No one makes me feel more alive, nor can anyone else make me so exhausted. I was so sore after that night I couldn’t walk for a day and a half.”

Cat calls and wolf filled the area. Izaya and Shizuo swung around to find a crowd of at least fifty people who were suddenly and unsuccessfully trying to appear as if they were there for some other reason. The man pantomiming eating ramen was particularly ineffectual.

“Seriously?” Izaya asked rhetorically. The crowd continued to mill around benignly, so Shizuo and Izaya decided to pretend half a hundred people weren’t witnessing this conversation.

When they turned back, Simon’s expression was caught in an interesting dichotomy of hopeful and utterly horrified. Switching back and forth between the two actually appeared to be giving him something of a facial twitch.

“That may be… how you say… too much information.”

Izaya shrugged, picking up from Shizuo’s lead. “You said you wanted the details of our dates, so there you have it. Anyway, we came to the conclusion we really _were_ suppressing our true emotions while in public, so we are here to admit defeat Simon. We will give a try at being more… expressive.”

Simon looked rightfully wary at Izaya’s proclamation, but couldn’t find any fault in it. “Is good. You try that. Still report back every couple of day. Will monitor progress, no?”

“Sounds good!” Izaya chirped, sharing a broad and delighted grin with Shizuo. Simon’s felt his soul shiver at their expressions. 


	3. Date 3: The Musical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shizuo has the voice of an angel, the lyrical wit of a thrice translated babelfish entry, and the total blood volume of several robust manatees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, they seem to be on a slippery slope to affection...
> 
> Huge thanks to my dearest pichu10176, who whipped this chapter into shape :)

In the span of four days, the estimated total of the city's damage was higher than it had been for all of Shizuo’s previous damages combined. The number was aided greatly by the fact one of Shizuo’s kanji “love messages” had spelled out “I miss your smile, my beloved” in flaming and destroyed Maseratis (“I was by the car dealership when the emotion hit me”), but it was hardly a singular incident. The middle of the city still displayed a derailed train twisted into the shape of a heart simply because the police couldn’t figure out how to remove it.

Ikebukuro was further crippled by the fact that business was virtually at a standstill. Businessmen from around the city suddenly found themselves with rather pressing personal reasons to forgo their corporate work and learn choreographed dance numbers that bore a disturbing resemblance to West Side Story. At any give hour of the day, one could go out and witness a street-wide musical about Shizuo’s strength and virtue. As an interesting sequela, Ikebukuro’s men were voted Most Able to Produce Mass Synchronous  _Fouetté en tournant_  in Japan. It was an honor no one previously knew existed, but which they promptly started bragging about nonetheless.

Dennis was only able to find workers to rebuild Russian Sushi through the utilization of several shady connections. Even then, the construction workers took frequent “coffee breaks” in order to deliver singing telegrams to Shizuo.

Simon wished that was the worst of it. He really did.

“I heard you were successful though,” Mikado hedged tentatively, trying his best to cheer up the disturbingly glum Russian. Mikado was really just looking for a reason to avoid his meal, which was currently bubbling menacingly on a portable George Forman grill. “All over the place, people are talking about how the two of them are showing affection in public. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

If anything, this only made Simon look more depressed. “Is complicated.”

Just then they were interrupted by a familiar shout ringing through the streets.

“IZAAAAAAYYYYAAAAAAAAA! YOUR LIMPID EYES MAKE ME SWOON!”

Simon buried his face in his palms. A deafening crash followed this declaration. Mikado leaned back on his stool to glance out the window, and was greeted by the sight of a giant bouquet of vending machines blossoming from the pavement.

“NOW YOU CAN DRINK IN MY LOVE FOR FREE AT ANY TIME, FLEA.”

Mikado leaned forward once more, awkwardly patting Simon on the shoulder, because it was less embarrassing than contemplating that little display.

* * *

Shinra gave a relaxed sigh as he stretched his arms over the back of the couch. It had been a shockingly peaceful morning, allowing Celty and him to have a domestic brunch together and some lazy lounging in front of the midday news. Lowering his arms from the stretch, he crept his hand along the back of the couch and around Celty’s slim shoulders, until a stray tendril of smoke absentmindedly slapped at his wrist.

[I cannot believe this has become a city wide phenomenon.] Celty typed in reference to the current news coverage they were watching. While the news stations had their pick of interesting topics lately- the collapsing local economy, the troubling influx of foreign gangs, the shocking increase in municipal damages- all the local networks seemed more focused on the hot new relationship at the heart of the matter.

“We just caught wind of the most recent sighting!” A chipper newscaster was proclaiming on their screen. He was in an odd ensemble of formal business wear and a heavy tactical vest usually reserved for reporting from war zones. “This took place quite close to where this love story purportedly started: the streets in front of Russian Sushi.” The camera panned to a flaming column of vending machines. “And we have with us some eye witnesses of this most recent development! Ladies?”

Four giggling girls appeared on camera, blushing and whispering back and forth to one another. The boldest of the group stepped forward to speak into the newscaster’s microphone. “It was _so_  romantic. We came across them right as Orihara-sama was scaling a wall. Heiwajima-sama was professing his love-“

“’You can’t run from my love forever, Flea!’” contributed one of her friends. “So unique!”

“-and then they disappeared down that alley with a couple of explosions.” One of the girls behind her seemed to swoon.

“ _My_  boyfriend has never destroyed massive amounts of public property because of his uncontainable love for me,” she supplied woefully.

“It’s like an urban fairy tale!” the group exclaimed together.

[What is wrong with these people?] Celty typed in exasperation. [I hope Shizuo isn’t watching this…]

“The rest of us can only dream of being wooed so… energetically. In related news, the Department of Heiwajima Urban Destruction has announced it has fully exhausted its funding, and will be closing. From its ashes, we have the newly minted Department of Heiwajima Modern Art! We are standing right beside one of their newest exhibits.” The camera panned to an alley wall that had a neon pink, Vespa-shaped appendage blooming from its abused bricks. Shinra thought it looked like a bit of a health hazard, seeing as the remainder of the bike was on fire and dribbling oil, but the crowd that was gathering around it was murmuring appreciatively. Nearby, a crew of workers was drilling an informative plaque into the bricks.

“Please stay tuned, where we will update you on the latest lottery standings for where residents of Ikebukuro believe the next explosive date will be!”

Celty clicked off the television in exasperation. [When are they going to end this charade?]

“Probably as soon as Simon caves, though I don’t think this was quite the effect they were shooting for with the populace. I can never really guess the ultimate goal with Orihara-kun, though.” Really, the two _had_  made a right mess of the city, but everyone (spare Simon) seemed to be enjoying the odd turn of events, Izaya and Shizuo foremost.

Shinra paused in his thoughts as his phone buzzed noisily against the coffee table. Sighing at the loss of his peaceful afternoon with Celty, he examined the screen. “Speak of the devil.” He flipped the phone open. 

“Shinra,” Izaya’s voice dripped across the line, sickeningly saccharine. Having spent ample time around Izaya, Shinra was automatically put on red alert by his tone. “Kindly make your way to Shizu-chan’s apartment, if you have the time and inclination.”

“What now?” Shinra groaned, going to retrieve his medical bag.

“The stupid bastard’s been shot.  _Stop **poking**  it you imbecile_!”

Shinra froze mid-step as he heard Shizuo’s rumbling laughter in the distance. “What, again?”

“ _Yes_ , again. Look, I- _so help me you son of a bitch, that better be hypovolemia-induced hysteria_ \- I tied it off as much as possible, but there is a lot of blood and- _will you shut up? If you start coughing up blood, I swear I will punch you in the throat_ \- and I can’t staunch it all. The idiot has ruined _another_  one of my coats and-“

“Izaya,” Shinra broke in placatingly. He honestly never thought he would have to use his "doctor voice" on Izaya of all people. “I need you to calm down, okay?”

“I am calm. I could not be more calm- _Oh, by all means Shizu-chan, adjust the tourniquet. Exsanguinating yourself would fall neatly into the category of “death by stupidity”_ \- I am a textbook fucking example of serenity. You just need to get over here like it is your job. Oh wait, it _is_  your job.”

“Okay, okay, I’m on my way,” Shinra soothed, magnanimously ignoring that last little barb. The fact that Shizuo was still able to aggravate Izaya was a good sign at least. “How many times was he shot?”

“ _You can’t just **walk**  on that you stupid fuck_\- we are on our way as well, apparently. _You are an anomaly of evolution, you witless barbarian!_ \- twice, from what I can see. Thigh and chest, though the chest wound may just be a graze. I can’t tell because _someone is being a goddamn prude and won’t even lift his shirt to see if he has a bullet lodged in his lung_. I’m worried the thigh one nicked his femoral though-  _oh, shut the hell up. You rhyme dearest with “fear-est”, you don’t get to contribute to academic discussions._ ”

“What?” Shinra paused in tapping Celty lightly on the shoulder for a ride.

“What?” Izaya replied. “Oh, we were singing a duet to each other while a street gang held me ‘hostage’.”

“ _What?_ ” Shinra repeated.

“Can we have this conversation when I am not chasing after a Shizu-chan who looks like a survivor of the zombie apocalypse? Great, thanks, bye.” Shinra was left staring blankly at a perplexed Celty as the dial tone blared in his ear.

“Can I have you drive me to Shizuo’s place? He apparently got himself shot while he and Izaya were serenading each other.”

Celty’s fingers hovered over her PDA for several moments before she simply flipped the phone back up her sleeve. Shinra got the distinct impression that if she had a head, she would be shaking it.

They made record time to Shizuo’s apartment. Absurdly, the only point Shinra could focus on throughout the ride was that Shizuo could _sing_  (perhaps horribly enough to merit getting shot, but the fact remained). As Celty was dismounting, however, her own phone chirped with a new text message. Shinra watched her “frown”. Knowing Izaya was ensconced up in Shizuo’s apartment and unlikely to be playing with Celty at the moment, he hazarded the next best guess.

“Trouble with the Dollars?”

Celty gave one firm nod.

“Go ahead and help out if you like. It might be better if you don’t come up for this.”

Celty gave another nod and a parting wave to Shinra’s “Be Safe!” as her motorcycle shot down the road with a faint whinny. He spent one more moment smiling fondly at Celty’s retreating figure before he turned and entered the complex.

Shinra had to take a calming breath once he had made it up to Shizuo’s apartment and passed through the open, swinging door smeared with blood (really, that should have been a lot more unsettling than it actually was). As expected, Izaya and Shizuo were squabbling inside. Less expected, however, was the fact Izaya was apparently in the process of trying to remove Shizuo’s pants.

“No means no, Flea! Stop touching me!” a pale Shizuo growled, planting a palm in the middle of Izaya’s face to keep him at arms length.

“Stop making this sound like a B-rate porno,” Izaya said while windmilling his arms in an effort to escape Shizuo’s grasp.

“Then stop trying to strip me!”

“Cutting off a pant leg is hardly compromising your virtue, Shizu-chan. I promise I won’t swoon at your shapely ankles.”

“See? That right there. Talk like that is why you won’t be removing any article of clothing from my body.”

“If only you could always use the excuse of blood loss for your stupidity. Shinra is going to need to clean and dress that wound. If you weren’t such an absolute simpleton, you would remember that from the _last time_  you got your stupid ass shot.”

“You mean the last time you _arranged_ to have me shot?”

Shinra glanced back and forth between the bickering men. “I know this is how you two show affection. I just despair for any children you might produce.”

Izaya and Shizuo jolted away from each other, both angling a frustrated and somewhat guilty expression towards Shinra. It was Izaya who finally spoke up. “You know, it is really disheartening to hear those sorts of statements come from my primary care clinician. I think you missed a few relevant points of biology by skipping out of college, Shinra~.”

“Where there’s a will there’s a way. You would manage to get pregnant just to make my life a maternity nightmare.”

“I have no intention of losing my girlish figure. Why can’t Shizu-chan be the pregnant one?”

“It is actually disturbingly easy to imagine. You, in a maternity dress, complaining about your swollen ankles as you down French toast covered in ootoro.”

“I would like to remind you I have at least thirty one different methods of disposing of your body so they would never find you. Now, if you are done making insinuations about my reproductive tract, would you care getting to the vampire’s wetdream over here?”

Shizuo broke his silence with a wide grin. “I’m fine, really. Feel free to finish up this discussion.”

“While my life _would_ be easier if you just bled out, I don’t want to deal with all the paperwork of the police reports,” Izaya shot back, gaining the edge to his voice that had been present when Shinra had first entered.

“Quite. We’ll get right to it then,” Shinra chirped cheerfully, swinging his bag onto the small coffee table. Izaya’s face had twisted into a malicious smile, and Shinra was really quite happy to avoid the verbal shrapnel the informant was about to spew. It was almost cute, the way Izaya was bristling. He seemed to be at his most caustic whenever something was worrying him, and the fact that it was Shizuo’s health in this case was just too precious for words. Perhaps Shinra would have to start a video documentary on the evolution of this relationship. Considering the fanbase the two had accrued, it was actually kind of fiscally irresponsible that he hadn’t done so already. Doctor-patient confidentially was a relic of legal doctors, after all.

“So, which wound seems to be bothering you more?” Shinra questioned, setting out his supplies methodically and resigning himself to the fact Shizuo’s body would likely warp them all beyond any future use by the time he was finished.

“How about sanguineous "Old Faithful" in his thigh?” Izaya purred. “It’s alright that you didn’t catch it immediately, sensei, it is a subtle wound.”

“No need to be nasty, Orihara-kun,” Shinra murmured, trying desperately not to laugh at the entire situation. Laughing at Izaya when he was in his version of emotionally vulnerable would be akin to kicking a cobra. “Please recall you have been able to observe Shizuo’s wounds longer than I have.”

“Long enough to know it is not that big a deal, not that you could tell by looking at him,” Shizuo muttered.

Izaya looked about ready to clobber Shizuo over the head with the small porcelain elephant on the coffee table, so Shinra found himself intervening once more. “Izaya, would you mind heating up some water so I can get this cleaned up?”

“Of course Shinra! I live for the day when I can play your nursing assistant!” He stalked off into the kitchen. Shinra finally let loose the snicker he had been holding back as Shizuo scowled.

“Why is he always such an asshole?” Shizuo grumbled, tugging off his vest as Shinra started to peel back the makeshift bandage on his leg (mystery of how Izaya had lost another coat: solved). Shinra contemplated his answer for a moment. Shizuo wouldn’t be particularly receptive to the truth, but if Shinra could help this process along, Celty would likely be overjoyed for Shizuo. Sure, it would help push two of his childhood friends into a long overdue relationship, blah blah, but really, Celty’s happiness was what motivated him into the carefully worded explanation.

“We all handle stress differently. Izaya lets his cordial mask slip. Perhaps he doesn’t like being reminded of your mortality?”

A derisive snort came from the doorway to the kitchen, where Izaya was leaning with slit eyes. “Shizu-chan cannot die fast enough by my standards. I would just rather have it be by my own design.”

“You said it was because you didn’t want trouble with Simon,” Shizuo said, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“And the paperwork!” Shinra contributed. As was becoming tradition, he was ignored.

“My reasons are many and varied, Shizu-chan. Believe it or not, some of us can entertain more than one concept at once.”

Really, this sort of thing gave Shinra hope. If he could babysit these two all the time, he should have no problem taking care of his and Celty’s future children. “Thank you for getting the water boiling Izaya. How about grabbing a beer or something stronger for our patient here? This will probably hurt quite a bit, and the only opiate I have in stock is far too short acting- Shizuo’s metabolism will demolish it.”

The look Izaya gave him suggested Shinra was treading on very thin ice at this point, but he eventually did ghost back into the kitchen.

“So, what happened?” Shinra asked conversationally as he watched the blood well from Shizuo’s thigh for a moment. Giving a brief flush of saline to the area gave Shinra an idea of just how extensive the mess was before he placed a fresh compress on the area and waited for the boiling water. Shizuo really had outdone himself on this one- no wonder Izaya was having a snit. Shinra one-handedly separated out a few packets of suture before snipping back the material of Shizuo’s pant leg. He had a feeling that distressed whimper was more out of remorse for the trousers than any pain from the gunshot.

“Just some dumb street thugs,” Shizuo mumbled at length. At Shinra’s flat stare, he continued with a shrug. “They had the Flea at knife point when I caught up- we were doing the whole “lovers’ chase” routine. I wasn’t going to just stand there and let them poach what is mine to kill, but Izaya decided to embrace the crazy this city is infested with and broke out into song.”

“I…see.” Shinra pressed a hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes. There was just… too much in that small statement, and he had only just managed to get his laughter at Izaya under control. Forget the fact that they seemed to have evolved to the point of “no one is allowed to kill me but you.” Shizuo knew as well as anyone that Izaya couldn’t be held at knife point unless he was expressly allowing it- that was like stating the street thugs had physically restrained Shizuo. The blond was hardly the model citizen for thinking through his actions, but the fact that this didn’t even register probably meant that seeing Izaya in danger and shaken him up a lot more than he was letting on.

“Well, I mean, the whole singing thing kind of worked. All of the gangsters looked like they were afraid he had something contagious. Then we got into the choreography of the song, and I was just, you know, flinging my arms around dramatically while Izaya snuck around and started taking them out by prodding their pressure points, all sultry like to go with the song.” Shinra made it a personal priority to find a video of this as soon as he was finished patching up Shizuo. “Anyway, a few of them ended up having guns, so when they figured out they were at the disadvantage, this happened.”

Aside from concluding his friends were _idiots_ , Shinra was also kind of leery about “a few” of the thugs having guns. This sounded like a low level gang, and guns simply weren’t that easy to come by. All of Izaya’s actions hinted that he wasn’t behind it, so it really begged the question of where those guns had come from. More so, what could possibly possess a gang to pick on _Izaya and Shizuo_  of all people. Shinra would have to grill Izaya later to get the full details.

Shinra was pushed from his thoughts with a _clink_ of glass hitting the coffee table. Izaya had put down the water bowl with enough force to splash all over Shinra’s instruments, because he was a passive aggressive asshole like that. And-

“Orihara-kun, I really don’t think milk has a high enough proof to provide any sort of analgesia.”

Izaya, who had claimed a perch on the adjacent chair, fiddled with his phone disinterestedly. “Yes, well, good luck getting the other option- which happened to be whiskey of all things- down the brute’s gullet. Have you forgotten Shizu-chan’s childish tastes?” Yes, as a matter of fact. Interesting that Izaya hadn’t. “Why do you think he’ll metabolize alcohol any slower than an opioid anyway? You are an awful doctor Shinra, learn your physiology.”

“You are such a headache,” Shinra shot back lamely, because getting into a battle of words with Izaya was doomed from the start, even if Shinra _did_  have justification. Sighing, he turned back to see Shizuo chugging the bottle of milk. At Shinra’s betrayed look, Shizuo had the good grace to at least look a bit apologetic. “Whatever. Shizuo, this is going to hurt even for you, just as fair warning,” He swabbed his surgical field clean, and made a quick plan of attack.

Shinra may not have been versed in the finer nuances of internal medicine, but as an underground doctor he _was_  pretty damn good at removing bullets. This was good news for all parties involved, as the first dig into Shizuo’s thigh was met with a displeased hiss and a cracking sound that named the untimely demise of one of the arms on Shizuo’s couch. Due to the distressed furniture, Shinra took a moment to register another sound in the room. Glancing up from his work, he was somehow unsurprised to see Izaya sprawled across his chair, clicking away pictures on his phone.

“Fleeeeeeeeeeeea,” Shizuo growled through gritted teeth. Shinra decided pale and crazy-eyed was not one of Shizuo’s better looks. A pity, considering it was being photodocumented. “What the _fuck_  do you think you are doing?”

“Capturing the exquisite play of emotions on my lovenut’s face, of course!” Click.

The next picture was probably a bit skewed as Izaya ducked the supersonic pillow that screamed past his head. Shizuo had just managed to crack one of his own walls. With a _pillow_. Shinra went back to his bloody work, praying he could at least remove one bullet before this dissolved into absolute pandemonium. Because of this, he missed the scenic display of Izaya grinning psychotically amid a gentle snowfall of stuffing.

Shinra apparently missed _several_ pivotal evolutions in the situation, actually, because the next thing he knew, his surgical field was oddly well illuminated and-

“Mother of- fuck!” Shinra leaned back just in time to avoid the flaming pillow that rocketed in between Shizuo and himself. “What the hell?!” Shinra squeaked. His skewed glasses left half of his vision blurred to Izaya twirling a lighter playfully.

“Well, this was feeling a bit too much like one of our illustrious dates, so I figured I would make it official with a little bit of fire.” That terrifying pyromania leaking out the edges of Izaya’s wide grin was just one of the many reasons why the informant had no friends. Shinra turned to Shizuo, vainly hoping the blond would do _something_  to diffuse the situation. It was a momentary lapse of judgment on Shinra’s part. Shizuo was looking equally unhinged, holding his literal return-fire of burning pillows in each hand.

Yes. Clearly removing a bullet that was dangerously close to a vital artery and several very angry nerves, all without analgesia, was too simple a procedure. Shinra ducked his head and kept working, pretending he was not in the precarious crossfire of a flaming pillow fight. He needed to find new friends.

* * *

 

After Shinra left to retrieve a few bags of blood for a transfusion and a flame retardant surgical gown for his own safety, Shizuo reclined back on his couch and puffed idly at his cigarette. Izaya had been left to “watch over” him, and really, wasn’t that a testament to how jacked up the city was by this point, that it didn’t come across as an odd appointment? Despite the Flea’s overwhelming mother henning, however, Shizuo was finding it shockingly easy to cope with the current situation. Perhaps singeing a good half of his apartment while reenacting a teen sleepover gone horribly wrong got all the energy out of his system. At the very least, it had distracted him from Shinra’s prodding, so that he had actually been surprised when Shinra had announced he was finished. It had also lowered Shizuo’s guard enough to earn him a fiery bolster straight to the face. Fucking Flea.

The man in question had been fairly well behaved since Shinra’s departure though, simply tapping away at his phone as Shizuo reclined on the opposite couch and rested. Shizuo entertained himself by watching the various positions Izaya squirmed into while he was working. At present, he was sitting upside down, one leg draped over the back of the chair and one arm flopping carelessly on the ground past his head. Even as Shizuo watched, he was shifting again, into an odd comma shape as his hair remained a ridiculous dark poof against the carpet. Shizuo was man enough to admit it was oddly adorable.

The companionable silence they had fallen into suddenly broke as the Flea let out a derisive snort. At Shizuo’s questioning look, Izaya stared at him upside down with a wicked grin. “Seems our duet has hit YouTube. We’ve gone viral.” Izaya displayed the screen of his phone, which currently played poor footage of Shizuo down on one knee, arms spread wide as he belted out a tune.

Shizuo was spared further embarrassment at his own actions when Izaya’s phone started crying out its own song with an incoming call. Shizuo had no desire to hear the sort of shit Izaya was dealing in, but he also wasn’t motivated enough to get up and leave the room.

“Forgive me for the interruption, Shizu-chan. Hello? Yes Shiki-san, I believe you will be interest in this. Your men may want to look into increasing security.” Izaya paused to laugh playfully. “Oh my, no! Nothing like that. You just may have a bit of a turf war brewing. Yes, I’ll send you a full report later when I am able. Hm? No need. Consider it a gesture of good faith between friends.” Shizuo hoped this Shiki person was smart enough to be thoroughly skeeved out by that statement.

“Thanks for making me an unwitting accomplice to your dealings with the yakuza, Flea,” Shizuo stated without rancor as he stared at the ceiling.

“Oh, you’re a big boy, I’m sure you’ll be fine. That was even for your benefit, so quit your griping. Ah! It’s tough being this popular,” Izaya sang, picking up as the phone rang again. “Masaomi-kunnn~! So good of you to check in. Now now, is that sort of language really necessary?”

Shizuo let his mind wander as Izaya rambled on about gold kimono or some shit. “Letting his mind wander” entailed contemplating how Izaya still had fluff in his hair and a small smear of Shizuo’s blood across his cheek where he had absently wiped it after tying one of the tourniquets. It should really have been utterly revolting, but disturbingly enough, cute was the first adjective that came to mind. Shizuo frowned.

Despite the fact he was frequently called an idiot, Shizuo had incredibly instincts, and this? This screamed of disaster. The last week or so had been a fluke of Izaya acting like a moderately functional human being. He may have looked about as cuddly as a kitten as he contorted around his cell phone, but Shizuo was the last person who needed to be told that was a convenient mask for a truly malicious person underneath. Building this odd sort of camaraderie through the forced matchmaking was really fucking with his perception of the informant, and Shizuo could feel the hidden tingle of danger as his guard slowly began to slip.

Izaya puffed his cheeks out in irritation at something the Kida kid was saying. Shizuo felt himself grin.

…Shizuo was going to punch himself in the face.

He gave a jolt of surprise as his own phone snapped him out of his self loathing. Keeping one eye on Izaya, whose animated gesticulations made him look a bit like an overturned turtle, Shizuo stubbed out his cigarette and flipped open his phone. “Yeah?” he asked distractedly.

“ShiZUo! Busy morning! Eat sushi- sushi great end to your date!”

“I’m sorry Simon, are you telemarketing in addition to being an obnoxious matchmaker?”

“Sushi is good-“

“I think this counts as harassment.”

“ Many people enjoy today-“

“Seriously, your level of involvement in our personal lives is worrying.”

“ You come by, have sushi. We talk about recent dates.”

“We’re gonna have to postpone that. Izaya needs a shower and I need to wait on Shinra for my blood transfusion.”

“Blood transfusion no good date activity,” Simon informed him tersely.

“Well neither is getting shot,” Shizuo growled back. He was just about done with this entire situation.

“Oooooooooooh. He tend your wounds, yes?”

Shizuo blinked. “No! Well yes. Sort of. Not like you are insinuating.”

“Is very good! Come-hither bleeding!” Shizuo, at a complete loss at how to even respond to that, resorted to simply snapping shut his phone. When he glanced up, he saw Izaya had ended his call as well and was now regarding Shizuo with a half smirk.

“That was shockingly effective, Shizu-chan. Perhaps we should see how long we can postpone Simon with similar excuses.” He paused to frown as Shizuo started to struggle to his feet. “What are you doing? Knock it off, you are going to tear your stitches.”

“Are you sure you aren’t a grandmother in disguise?” Shizuo huffed, slumping back against the couch cushions. “I was just getting a glass of water.”

Izaya made an irritated noise in the back of his throat and disappeared into the kitchen, only to reappear a moment later with the glass of water. Shizuo was going to make some comment about having Izaya waiting on him hand and foot, but got distracted once Izaya was close enough to offer him the glass. The fluff was everywhere, and unbidden, Shizuo found his hand reaching up to pluck out a few of the larger clumps. Izaya stood frozen in shock, eyes comically wide and water glass still extended in his hand. Shizuo was too focused on his task to really register the effect he was having and continued to sift the fluff out of Izaya’s hair.

Because he had never watched a chick flick in his life, however, Shizuo squandered the oddly personal moment in the interest of being abrasive. “I could probably keep making excuses if you continue to plot this town into an absolute mess. What the hell was with those thugs anyway?”

This seemed to jolt Izaya out of his hypnotic state. Setting down the water, he batted away Shizuo’s hand. “As flattering as it is that you seem to think I control everything, Shizu-chan, they were as much a surprise to me as they were to you.”

Shizuo scoffed and took a sip of water so he didn’t have to examine his own actions too closely. “Please. How many times have you said something like that, only for it to be a complete lie? For all I know, you sold them those guns. I figured our fighting every day would be enough of a distraction to tone down your scheming, but apparently I was wrong.”

There was a short moment where Izaya gave him a full blown scowl before it melted into a helpless smirk. “It is a pretty safe default to assume anything you think is wrong, Shizu-chan. Your protozoan brain can’t process basic facts.”

Shizuo just snorted derisively. _This_  he could handle. Wide-eyed, fluff-laden Izaya was a terrifying beast indeed, but patronizing Izaya was something he knew how to deal with.

“And for your information,” Izaya continued cloyingly, “I am very rarely the sole cause of anything. I distribute facts. I encourage behaviors. But above all I simply observe humans and their freedom of choice. I know so much simply because I pay attention.”

“Oh yes, you are the pinnacle of objectivity. For once in your life, I DARE you to say something straightforward and truthful about yourself,” Shizuo muttered disbelievingly.

Izaya’s face became deceptively calm. It would have been quite a professional expression if not for the childish smear of blood that was still streaked across his cheek. “I am quite frequently truthful AND blunt, Shizu-chan. It is not my problem that you don’t know how to listen.”

“Which, surprise surprise, is not an answer at all.”

Izaya’s face fissured with a counterfeit grin. The expression was so obviously forced it made Shizuo sick. “ _Vsyo vremya sxvatyvaya nit’_ ,” Izaya whispered. “ _Sudeb, sobytiy, Zit’, dumat’, tcuvstvovat’, lyubit’, Sversat’ otkryt’ya_  (I want to grasp the threads of events and histories, live, think, feel, love, make discoveries). If you really care so much, try doing some research.”

Shizuo scowled. “I swear to _god_ , I am going to get you a shock collar for when you start slipping into Russian.”

For some reason, it was this comment that broke the tension. Izaya threw his head back with a delighted peal of laughter. “ _Gav_  (woof),” he stated warmly after he composed himself, though his eyes still glittered with amusement.

And okay, yeah, the thought of _actually_ having Izaya in a collar had thrown Shizuo right back into his confused state of _what the fuck are we doing here, this is doing uncomfortable things to me emotionally and physically_. He could feel the flush spreading on his face, could _see_  Izaya’s amusement building, just _knew_  that dog biscuits would forever more have a lewd and unwanted connotation...

Izaya blinked and glanced down at his phone, frowning thoughtfully at the text he had just received. Shrugging, he snapped his phone closed. “Well, it’s been a blast Shizu-chan. Send a vending machine my way the next time you want to get together. Or. You know. Call.”

“Wait!” Shizuo stated with a jolt. “I thought you were staying until…?”

Izaya’s look was either one of warm affection or patronizing pity. It was a bit difficult to tell with him. “Shinra gets back?” the informant questioned. “Mr. Voyeur has been lurking in the bushes of you entryway for some time now. Later, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo stared in bewilderment as Izaya left and Shinra slunk into the room.

“So,” Shinra stated after an awkward silence. “You and bondage huh?”

Completely out of pillow-ammo to lob at Shinra’s head, Shizuo threw the remaining arm of the couch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Izaya was quoting Borís Pasternák, a Russian who earned a Nobel Prize for his writings. Beautiful, beautiful stuff.


	4. Date 4: Action Figures Now Available At Walmart!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is maybe not going _quite_ as well as they anticipated.  
>  In which Izaya gets trolled in a very Izaya-esque manner, Shizuo continues to question his life choices, and Anri has an objectively strange encounter (subjectively, it is pretty much par for the course in Ikebukuro)

“ _Nam nuzno pagavarit’_ (We need to talk).”

“ _Nam-nu-z-no_ -“

“ _Nyet_ (no), softer, as _nuzh-na_.”

“ _Nam nuzno paga… varit’_.”

“ _Da. Ya zlyus’_ (Yes. I’m annoyed).”

“ _Ya zl-_ ”

“ _GUYS_.” Shizuo, Vorona, and the unfortunate debtor victim drowning in both terror and confusion all swung to look at Tom as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The excited flock of girls -who had been following them around all day and whom they all gamely tried to ignore- continued to murmur amongst themselves. “I appreciate the Russian lessons going on here, but threatening him in a language he doesn’t understand isn’t going to help anything.”

“Ah,” Shizuo nodded in embarrassment before turning back to the man he held suspended in the air before him. “Sorry Tom-san. This trash isn’t going to pay out today though.” Almost absentmindedly, Shizuo flung the hapless man over several buildings and into the horizon. The teen mob burst into excited chatter and started snapping photos of the man’s trajectory.“We’ll probably have to wait a few days before trying him again.”

Tom sighed. “Right. Our final client for the day, then, is once more one Higa Hideki, who no one has seen hide or hair of for several weeks. Thus far we don’t have any new leads.”

“I may be able to figure something out,” Shizuo said with a shrug, turning his back on their fan club and digging around for his phone.

“Considerable and increase irritation at public invasions of personal matters through utilization of a teenage girl force. Purpose?” Vorona questioned, frowning slightly at the group that was, in turn, watching Shizuo rabidly.

Tom was about to answer when Shizuo’s phone clicked. Tom was close enough to hear and identify the voice on the other line, though it only increased his confusion.

“Bunny-muffin! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Shizuo coughed. “I just needed to hear your dulcet tones. And feel the horror of your pet names apparently. While I have you on the line though, you know anything about a Higa Hideki and where he might be hiding out?”

That one simple statement ignited their mobile fan club. Somehow, amid the excited squealing, Tom was still able to discern the response. Izaya’s thoughtful hum buzzed through the line, “Give me his address and I should be able to dredge something up in a few minutes.”

After Shizuo read out their client’s information, Izaya gave another thoughtful hum. “Where are you? It sounds like the middle of a mob on your end.”

Shizuo glanced out of the corner of his eye. “It is. A large, excitable, adolescent one. They have been following us around all day. One girl claimed a rearview mirror I had crumpled as a “souvenir”. Seriously, what the hell?”

Izaya’s laughter drifted over the line. “Ah, that is far more g-rated than what I have been getting. Do you look at me and think of condoms, Shizu-chan?”

“Uh-”

“Because I kid you not, I have _seventeen_ boxes I have been gifted with. Nine were from complete strangers!”

Tom watched as Shizuo’s face turned bright red, either from embarrassment or suppressed laughter, he wasn’t sure. “Perhaps you can start building a castle out of them.”

“Now there’s a thought! A lovely little condom shrine. Tell me, would you prefer “His and Her pleasure” or strawberry flavored as the foundation?”

Tom took a few steps away and stared in embarrassment at the horizon as Shizuo burst out laughing. As lighthearted as the conversation was, he still felt like he was listening in on something fairly intimate. Contemplating how odd it was to be receiving aid from _Orihara Izaya_ of all people, Tom caught the final clips of Shizuo’s end of the conversation.

“Kasuka hoisted “extra strength” on me. That sounds like a better foundation… That is just lewd. I’m pretty sure that is not the intended purpose…No, you. No, YOU...Shut up, I didn’t say that. Yeah. Okay… Nerima? Great, thanks. Later, honey-flanks.” Shizuo flipped closed his phone and was able to get out “Izaya was able to find where our client probably is-“ before he was promptly mobbed by a swarm of amateur paparazzi.

Even as Shizuo floundered around, trying to avoid the girls without losing his temper, Tom couldn’t help but notice that his kouhai was noticeably… brighter, for lack of a better word. Shizuo was rarely outright melancholy, but he usually was fairly subdued when not in a rage. Watching that phone call was the first time in ages that Tom had seen his kouhai burst into outright laughter. Tom frowned thoughtfully. Shizuo had told him the situation Simon had created, but against all odds, Shizuo and his rival actually seemed to be bonding over the mutual misery. Whatever they had going on between them still held an aggressive edge, but it was hardly the twenty-four carat hatred they had once practiced. Tom made it a point to keep his distance from Izaya, but the fact that Shizuo was so happy…

“Laughter and levity: odd emotional expression of Shizuo-senpai,” Vorona murmured at his side. “Extravagant, systemic construction of dating is unearthing true love?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Tom replied wonderingly. “We’ll just have to wait and see. And break Izaya’s teeth if he hurts Shizuo, right?”

Vorona blinked at this uncharacteristically violent sentiment from Tom before breaking into a conspiring grin.

* * *

“What the hell was that?” Namie asked after Izaya had hung up. Izaya, for his part, was staring into middle distance with an indiscernible look on his face.

“I just…”

“I’m sorry, are you _speechless_? I’ll cross-reference, but that may be an apocalyptic omen.”

Izaya rubbed at his forehead, completely unwilling to deal with Namie’s bullshit at that particular moment. “When did you get so tedious?” he asked rhetorically. Namie, being her obnoxious self, answered anyway.

“Around the time you got pampered with the daily slap and tickle games you’ve been playing with Heiwajima. Sorry, I’m not going to break your desk in half just so you can feel you are the center of attention.”

“Like you could anyway,” he muttered petulantly, and yeah, he absolutely deserved that disparaging look. He couldn’t remember the last time the obvious had been so clearly stated.

“You are pitiful. Just to clarify, it sounded for all the world like you were sitting there, making _penis_ jokes with Heiwajima.” Why did he hire her again? He was pretty sure filing his own paperwork was less of a headache than this. The fact he was focusing on this instead of the warm sensation in his chest from that last phone call did not bear mentioning.

“I mean seriously,” Namie was still talking, “can you at least save the dirty talk until I go home?” Izaya blocked out her barbed rambling and focused on what exactly had just happened with a small frown. It was… it was camaraderie. Commiseration. An oddly pleasant sensation budding from having a mutual understanding with someone else. That in itself was distressing enough: Izaya had never felt the _need_ to connect with other people, and frankly considered it a liability to start now. To think that person was Shizuo… He bit a knuckle to hold back a completely unwelcomed laugh, suddenly distracted from his musings by a reminder of their conversation. Perhaps he could spare a short trip over to Ikebukuro to see the brute- _Oh god, NO. What is happening to me_?

“You can clock out,” he stated over the top of Namie. “I am going to go throw myself in front of a bus.”

“Wishes do come true,” Namie muttered, grabbing her bag. She paused at the door, and Izaya felt a sense of foreboding at her questioning look. “I don’t know what your angle is with this faux relationship, but stop making kicked-puppy expressions every time you go introspective. It is distracting and gives me sympathetic twinges I never want to associate with you.”

“Didn’t you say you were leaving?” Izaya prompted, because damnit, he would make as many kicked puppy faces as he damn well pleased until he could get over the insanity of _desiring Shizuo’s company_. He swung his chair around to stare out the window in a clear gesture of dismissal. Namie gave another irritated noise.

Right before the door slammed, something with sharp corners clocked Izaya in the side of the head. Rubbing his scalp, he looked down to Night Light glow-in-the-dark condoms. Of course. Tossing it on the growing pile at the end of his desk, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed to… just stop thinking about this for a little while. Pulling out his phone, he scrolled back to the odd message he had received at Shizuo’s apartment a few days ago.

 

“Allow me a riddle, or more a verse

Please crack this little rhyme

I’m looking for glee, utmost perverse

Spare some of your time?

 

Grand little robin-spawn

Oh so proud

I yearn for the day when you scream out loud

 

So put out the porridge

And pour the honey

The emerald isle is here

 

Purveyor of whispers

Dear puppeteer

Feel our breath draw near.

 

Feel the chaos feed the chaos taste the chaos

and run."

 

Izaya had dismissed the message as someone trying to sound clever, though the change in meter and odd loss of rhyme through the progression of the text bothered him on some OCD level. It had been a strange irritant at the back of his mind though, and in the silence of his apartment, he found himself tracking the sender out of sheer curiosity. A smile cracked across his face at the number.

592-944864756

Oh goodness. Someone was playing a _game_.

It was amusingly simple as far as cryptographs went. The message was in English, so it wasn’t a stretch to assume the numbers corresponded to an English keypad. There were a few interpretations with that, but just a simple letter substitution code made one possibility interesting.

Kzb Zggvmgrlm

Pay Attention.

It was only moments before Izaya’s need to instigate had him picking up his phone. A small part of him was tempted to reply in iambic pentameter just to be contrary, but the last time he had attempted that, he had been called a pretentious asshole. Some people lacked both taste and a sense of humor. Still, he was after answers more than some entertaining antagonism, so he settled for a short, concise message instead.

[Who are you?] And Shizuo said he was never straightforward.

[I have already hand-fed you a surplus of clues, my good fellow] The response came almost instantaneously, giving Izaya one horrible, lurching moment of Tsukumoya-related post-traumatic stress. Good god, what was he going to do with _two_  of them? This entity had a different feel to it, however, which at least gave Izaya a faint spark of hope for getting something out of the conversation. After another silent moment of contemplation, he responded.

[So you would rather have some convoluted discussion about the fair folk?] He figured this was a bit more tactful than his impulse “I understand you references but think your poetry sucks” response.

[Honestly? No. They are a tedious lot. The text was a rare moment of benevolence, so don’t expect it to happen again. Just consider it a little invitation to sit back and enjoy the show.] Well now, that was rudely dismissive. This conversation really didn’t have room for two dickish megalomaniacs, which led Izaya to believe it was time to demonstrate he could out-asshole anyone, at any time.

Before the scathing riposte was even half typed, however, Izaya’s phone screen rippled, released a technological death rattle mired with echoing laughter, and went black. As if to drive the point home, a small tendril of smoke started to curl out of the side of it.

Touché.

Izaya gently set down one of his sharpest weapons as one would lower their lover into a grave.

Okay.

Snatching up a binder from his desk, he flung it into the nearby wall and watched as it bounced harmlessly off the surface to flutter to the floor with a few stray leaves of paper drifting around it. Shizuo probably would have been able to take out a weight-bearing wall with it.

Izaya’s head sunk into his hands.

He allowed himself one small, furious moment where he simply wanted to scream, but the silence of his own apartment strangled the noise in his throat. Evening light splashed gold against the black of his shirt as his shoulders began to shake. It was almost silent at first, the breathy noise he was making, until he couldn’t contain himself any longer: Izaya threw back his head and howled with laughter.

 _Oh my_ , Izaya’s mind reeled hysterically as he choked through his own persistent chuckles, _what a marvelous little mess I have made for myself_. As much as it seemed impossible, Izaya was pretty certain he knew what he was dealing with: he _was_ absurdly well read, after all. _I can name you_ he thought viciously, staring down at the black screen of his melted phone. This hypothesis would certainly explain how armed rival gangs were encroaching on Ikebukuro, testing the Dollars, antagonizing the Awakusu, and trying to hold him at _knife point_ of all things. It would explain why the populace of Ikebukuro had decided to go collectively batshit over his and Shizuo’s false relationship. Most certainly, it would explain why Izaya suddenly found himself cripplingly attracted to the man he had actively hated for years on end. As a firm believer in Occam’s razor, all he had left to ponder was where the corporate hitmen who kept trying to kill him factored into this mess.

Izaya felt a thrill ripple down his spine at the concept of going head to head with a monster that was practically his patron saint, all in the name of controlling the wonder that was humanity. His grin inched wider. He knew just how hypocritical he was being (one of his many charming character flaws), but he felt defiant, reckless, _feral_ now that he was aware someone else’s strings had been tugging at his limbs. Izaya was nothing if not a wellspring of mental fortitude, however. Someone wanted to manipulate _him_? Fine. It was time to reward their planning with a hurricane of insolence.

Feeling a buzz of spontaneity, he snatched up his netbook, cast a handful of stratego pieces onto the shogi board to bowl over the other pieces at random, and then struck out for Ikebukuro.

* * *

She was walking home alone at night again, tempting fate and the will of lesser men in her short school uniform and tight fitting blouse. Anri adjusted her glasses quietly as she skirted the pool of neon light spilling from a nearby streetlamp. If anyone was so stupid as to actually hassle her, they would soon find out _why_ she was able to prowl the streets on her own, but she wasn’t so righteous as to be wandering alone simply as bait for Ikebukuro’s scum. This was far more personal: she needed to investigate what was causing Saika’s children to snuff out one by one in her mind, and that was a much easier feat under cover of darkness.

It was as she was peering into a side alley tensely, feeling a few of her children at the other end, that Anri heard a sudden clattering of footsteps. She straightened, felt the cool slip of Saika glide along her arm, and glanced quickly towards the building bedlam to… blink. She was only allowed a small moment of staring like a startled deer before she was completely engulfed in a flash flood of excited civilians.

 _What on earth?_ she thought in bewilderment as the dense press of humanity carried her down the street. Multiple strangers clapped her on the shoulder in oddly exuberant and completely unsolicited friendliness. One man threw an arm around her waist and snapped a photo of the two of them “to commemorate the event”. In between warding off an excited girl who kept chattering that “this was her third this week” and avoiding eye contact with the peddler who was insisting his crushed soda can “was totally used as a projectile, this is a collector’s item!”, Anri vainly tried to figure out where she was being dragged to. No one appeared overly bothered by the fact she was toting a katana in the middle of the press of bodies. To be fair, she was kind of being overshadowed in the “inappropriate objects to cart through a mob” category. One man even appeared to be throwing _Molotov cocktails_ like they were confetti. Really. Someone needed to teach Ikebukuro how to riot responsibly.

It was only as she was contemplating lifting her shirt as a diversionary tactic to escape the mob that the swarm of people seemed to reach their destination.

Amid the fleshy press of strangers, she couldn’t see what made this section of street so special. It had to be something monumental, considering the sheer number of people. There was an honest to god _tour bus_ parked off to the left (“Catch a glimpse of the intense flames of love in Ikebukuro!”), teeming with camera-toting foreigners and-

“ **What’s up, fluffernutter?** ”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Being near the front of the mob, Anri was now able to make out Shizuo-san and the rest of the debt collectors standing at the center of everyone’s attention. They were doing an admirable job of pretending _hundreds upon hundreds_ of people weren’t watching them avidly. The crowd only seemed to grow more excited with Shizuo’s comment (“Oh, we’ve struck gold tonight folks!” announced the tour guide), to the point where the excited murmuring was completely drowning out one of Izaya’s ubiquitous singing-telegram-businessmen. The hapless fellow was tap dancing half heartedly before he was shoved into a nearby fountain so a few onlookers could get a better view.

“Just found myself craving your tender embrace, sweet pea,” Izaya’s voiced drifted over the excited crowd, and off to the right, the sea of humanity parted to reveal the informant like a revered prophet. The night seemed to light up with cell-phone-screen fireflies, bobbing animatedly as they recorded the encounter. Izaya’s eyes swept the crowd with enough razor sharp intellect and casual superiority that it sent chill down Anri’s spine. She had certainly heard the tabloid hype over the budding romance between these two men, but she just could not reconcile the thought that this toxic man and the gallant Shizuo-san were an _item_.

Anri might have perhaps had a _very slight_ hero worship going for Shizuo. If asked, she would deny it with wide-eyed innocence, and barring that, would likely pass out from embarrassment (she liked to think her defense behaviors were modeled after an opossum, sans the hissing and rabies), but the fact remained that Shizuo seemed like a slightly disgruntled white knight in her eyes. Izaya on the other hand… given half the chance, Anri would cheerfully stab Izaya in a non-vital organ. Or at the very least give him a very firm talking to. Perhaps send him a passive aggressive email. She would _definitely_ shoot a disproving look his way as long as she didn’t have his direct attention. The point being Shizuo actually having feelings for Izaya was something she was having difficulty digesting. This did not seem to be a problem she shared with her mob-mates.

“Do you think they are going to have sex in the street??” a bright eyed girl whispered feverishly. Anri eyed her dubiously, and wondered if the girl’s malady was contagious. Receiving only silence, the girl turned her attention to the man on her other side and promptly dissolved into a fit of giggling and squealing. Of what she could understand, Anri was skeptical that the majority of what they were discussing was even physically possible.

[What is rimming?] She texted Mikado idly, curious at the flood of new terminology she was hearing.

[lkdfsahsjdhsdj] came the radically unhelpful response. Sighing, Anri snapped shut her phone and turned her attention back to the interaction taking place in the middle of the street. Izaya’s calculating gaze was fixed on the group of debt collectors. One of his myriad phones hung open at his side, as if he had just snapped a couple of photos himself. As much as she didn’t want to buy into this supposed relationship, Anri couldn’t deny Izaya and Shizuo were sharing a shockingly intimate look. It was clear their focus had narrowed to only include one another, and the odd sort of exasperated understanding they were sharing in that moment was personal enough that Anri glanced away, cheeks staining a bright red. She couldn’t help the soft pang of jealousy she felt towards such a look, so laden with an emotion she herself would never be able to understand.

Unbidden, an image of the two together flashed through her mind, causing her to blush further and burst into an elated fit of giggles-

What the _HELL._

She was thankfully spared further examination of her own emotions by the men of the hour breaking into conversation, loud enough that it was obvious they were putting on a performance for the crowd.

“Well, I must confess snuzzlebutt, I decided to seek you out in part to bask in the glory of your shimmering molten honey orbs, but I also have a few things to discuss with you. Do you mind if we take this somewhere a bit more _private_?”

“Floozy,” muttered the blonde Russian debt collector off to the left. Izaya shot her a considering look before Shizuo garnered his attention.

“Can I settle for standing here, admiring your wind tousled raven locks, love-noodle? See, our previous discussions? Really not working out as planned. I’m not eager for more ‘brainstorming’ while we are still dealing with the backlash of the last session.”

Anri was still trying to recover from the unwarranted onslaught of their purple prose as the blond raised his hand to display a pair of dolls he had been clutching at his side. Even from her distance, Anri could see the uncanny likeness the dolls bore to the two men. With a demonstrative air, Shizuo separated the dolls, held then an arm length apart, and let them drop. Before either struck the pavement, the figures slammed back together mid-air, resulting in a shockingly lewd tumble once they did meet the street.

“That is… quite an impressive set of magnets,” Izaya stated at last, looking like he was caught between laughter and vomiting. The crowd around Anri was buzzing eagerly with where they could purchase this new collectors’ item. Anri had a brief moment of relief, knowing she could use the extensive network of her children to find out, before the relief turned to horror at her own thoughts.

Shizuo smashed one of the dolls under his shoe in frustration- the Izaya doll, as it so happened, and it was clear the selection didn’t please Izaya- before the blond seemed to realize his actions were “out of character”. “Uh,” he stated, staring down at the fragments the morose Shizuo-doll was still clinging pitifully to, “it couldn’t hope to match your beauty?” At Izaya’s unimpressed look, Shizuo shrugged. “Anyway, this is for you.” He reached down and fixed his fist over something in his pocket. With a careless sweep of his arm, Shizuo sent the silver object tumbling through the air and into Izaya’s poised palm. As Izaya glanced down with ill-hidden surprise, Shizuo continued talking. “I broke some guy’s fingers the other day, and later discovered that thing lodged in my palm. I don’t want to owe you a damn thing, and I may or may not have flushed your original ring down the toilet. So now we’re even I guess.”

The crowd was completely silent and seemed to be leaning forward as a single entity in anticipation. The painful struggle between squealing and remaining silent to catch their next words seemed palpable.

“Let me get this straight,” Izaya was very clearly trying not to laugh. “You steal my possessions, flush them into a sewer, try to pay me off with blood money, and then decide the optimal time to give me a ring is in front of hundreds of people with an unhealthy fixation on our relationship?”

Shizuo shrugged. “That about covers it, yeah.”

Izaya polished it on his shirt. “Well, it looks like there is a little bit of tendon caught in the decorative carvings- Ooh! Celtic knots! You have excellent taste in the jewelry you get lodged into your palm!- but it will do.” Izaya slipped it on to his bare index finger and held up his hand admiringly. “Perfect fit!”

Izaya continued saying something else, but it was drowned out in the excited screaming and swooning of the crowd, the exuberant hollers, and the sudden chorus of fake lenses snapping as hundreds of cell phone cameras fired in synchrony.

“ **HEY,”** Shizuo’s voice erupted over the top of the cacophony. “I am _trying_ to have a conversation with my _squishy-boo_.” He was somehow managing to glare threateningly in three-hundred and sixty degrees. “Do I burst in and interrupt your loving banters? Or do you just want me to beat your collective mouths in? Is **that** it?”

Interestingly, this question only seemed to fuel the crowd as they got a look at “classic Shizuo”. The blond watched in baffled silence as the hysterics continued. It was likely that he couldn’t remember the last time his reputation hadn’t been sufficient intimidation. He and Izaya shared another loaded look, seeming to have a silent conversation before a man with a bullhorn encouraged, “Take off his pants!”

This was clearly the end of Shizuo’s rope. “You need to reevaluate your values and sense of public decency!” he screamed back. Several of the people around Anri got in a heated debate over if they preferred the more traditional, inarticulate scream, or if this odd flare up of eloquence was yet more proof of Shizuo spending time around Izaya. They were hardly into the rebuttal phase of the argument when Shizuo started throwing things. His first projectile was a cell phone snatched from a bystander and sent spinning through the air to clock the bullhorn wielder in the forehead. The man crumpled into the crowd, which promptly started riffling through his pockets for souvenirs.

As Izaya simply observed the bedlam, mouth slightly agape, Shizuo hoisted his next weapon: his trademark stop sign. The pole ended up skewering the ill fated tour bus, which let out a terrible metal shriek before toppling over like a wounded animal. Several by-standards proclaimed it a good omen when the vehicle promptly exploded into flames. It was cordoned off as an art exhibit in short order.

Shizuo’s expression darkened, spiraling into a further rage by the crowd’s illogical response, as Izaya finally closed the distance between them. At this point, the majority of the crowd was too distracted by their own antics to get excited over the fact that Izaya’s hand had fixed around Shizuo’s wrist. The last Anri saw of their retreating forms, a decrepit old woman was trying to discretely slip Izaya a box of condoms.

It was definitely time for Anri to make an exit. The general chaos was reaching a worrying level; she wanted to be out of there before the authorities were called. It would be hard to maintain the innocent school girl image with a prison record.

Darting among the press of frantic strangers, she finally made it to the relative safety of a side alley and sprinted down the length of several side roads. When the crowd was finally only a dull roar in the distance, she paused to catch her breath.

[Please consider the potential health risks, Sonohara-san!] her phone screen proclaimed with a belated response from Mikado. Shaking her head, Anri slipped the phone back in her pocket. When she once more looked up, her breath froze in her throat.

The alley was filled with hundreds of pairs of glowing green eyes. The dark haze clinging to the dank bricks made it impossible to say what the eyes belonged to, but the range in sizes suggested a menagerie: small and beady, angular and exotic, massive and predatory. Anri unconsciously took a step back.

“Ah, here is our little swordswoman!” the voice was an amalgam of whispers, shouts, growls, and cries, hundreds of voices weaving into one that had Anri bracing Saika in front of her in alarm. A silhouette of a man peeled away from the group, but with each advancing step, his form seemed to melt away. At the mouth of the alley, he came into what little light the main street was offering. Anri stared, bewildered. A chocolate colored dwarf rabbit stared back with phosphorescent eyes.

Okay. By all rights she knew that it probably wasn’t a real rabbit. And if it was, it was probably possessed or something. That didn’t change the fact that she balked on principle at lunging forward in an attack. Anri had a healthy supply of self-loathing, but thankfully it had yet to include disgust over attacking fuzzy woodland creatures. Saika dipped slowly until it was hanging at her side.

“Hah! You have no qualms about enslaving human will, yet you protest harming animals? You are a delightful blend of contradicting morals!”

Anri reflected that adorable bunny or no, the damnable creature was sounding far too much like Izaya for her tastes. Steeling herself, she once more slowly raised Saika, feeling utterly ridiculous as she squared off with the rabbit. Despite its innocuous appearance, its small eyes were glowing with a sort of delighted malice that was so fundamentally disturbing- _oh God, its wee little nose just twitched, look at-_

Distracted by the cunning bastard’s nefariously cute diversion, Anri barely had time to bring up Saika’s hilt to keep the rabbit from her jugular. Anri gave a surprised shout and fell back as the rabbit ricocheted off, rebounded on the alley wall, and redoubled its killing intent from a different angle. _Oh god_ , Anri thought in a haze of panic, struggling to get Saika up in time to block the freakishly fast attack, _I’m going to die via_ _ **rabbit**_ _. Isn’t there a British comedy about something like this?_ Anri had no doubt she was about to die as she had lived: comically and profoundly flustered.

Step by stumbling step, Anri attempted to flee from the onslaught, but the rabbit met each parry with wicked delight. _Is that a_ _ **shiv**_ _?_ Anri thought in a delirious panic, slicing through the ragged iron the rabbit was holding behind its fierce little incisors. The drag from that blow slowed the rabbit just enough that Anri was able to reverse her blade with a wicked uppercut, catching the rabbit in its middle-

The creature turned to smoke before her eyes. In the following silence, a chocolate colored, green eye wolf peeled away from the shadowy audience to approach.

Oh, come ON. That was so not fair.

Anri didn’t have time to raise Saika; she didn’t have time to shriek; she didn’t have time to process the ragged fangs centimeters from her throat. Half way through a blink, she felt herself flying backward as thick, musty fur brushed past her to meet the wolf in a flurry of claws and snapping teeth. When she was able to get to her feet and clear her wavering vision, she was greeted with the sight of a bipedal wolf holding the green-eyed one by the throat, snarling viciously before it flung its prey back into the depths of the other watching eyes. Echoing laughter filled the alley as the eyes twinkled out one by one. Finally, there was only Anri’s ragged panting filling the silence. Anri remained frozen as the new wolf turned to regard her. _Werewolf_ her mind supplied in the shocked silence. _Werewolf. How can there be a werewolf in_ -

“Don’t be frightened,” a soft, feminine voice came from the creature’s grisly jaws. Anri blinked, opened her mouth, and then closed it again with a snap. The wolf dropped to all fours and loped towards her. “Jump on,” the quiet voice stated, presenting a large furry back. “I was looking for someone else, but we’ll get you to safety first. Come on.”

After one hesitant moment, she placed her hand in the thick, warm fur. With the wolf’s encouraging rumble, she jumped on and quickly wrapped her arms around the creature’s neck.

“Hold on tight,” the feminine voice reminded gently before bounding to the rooftops. As Ikebukuro became a dark smear beneath her, Anri couldn’t help but be reminded of her previous rescue with Celty. She pressed her cheek to the wolf’s soft coat with a small smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay guys! I get lots of days off, but when I do work it is super long hours :(
> 
> Huge thanks goes to my beloved beta pichu10176, who is much more punctual than I am.


	5. Date 5: Intermission 1: Dysfunction Merits Stealing Homestuck's Numbering Scheme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Izaya lays it all out on the table and still manages to be confusing, Shizuo is starting to get emotional whiplash, and siblings do nothing to help sexual frustration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty information-dense update loves! Also, for those who have followed this fic on the kinkmeme, there are some pretty notable changes in the second half. I switched up a section that I have always hated and decided to add more explanation for the underlying plot instead of saving it for later updates. 
> 
> (Thank you for your patience lovelies! I am in a chunk of working lots of days in a row, so I am sorry for the radiosilence. Huge round of applause also goes to my darling beta pichu10176, whose crazy speediness in editing made a Monday update possible).

“You are unbelievable,” Izaya muttered as he stood in front of Shizuo’s apartment, picking the lock with a sort of absentminded fury because the man was taking too long to get his stupid keys out. “Did it ever occur to you, in that vestigial brain of yours, that _hurling objects with enough force to go through metal_ would not be optimal for your stitches? Look, you already have strike through on your bandages, you dumb shit. Please tell me you at least have some clean bandaging material in this miserable rat hole you call an apartment.”

Izaya was hardly through the doorway before Shizuo’s hand was around his throat, slamming him up against the wall in a jarring offensive that forced the air straight out of his lungs.

“Cut the shit with the concerned act. First off, no more public meetings until you tell me what the fuck you are planning,” Shizuo growled, his face centimeters from Izaya’s. “This fucked up shit is getting way too far out of control. Secondly-“ Shizuo paused, as if he was only then taking in Izaya’s expression.

Izaya couldn’t help the psychotic grin that was stretching across his face even as his hands scrabbled at Shizuo's wrist to relieve some of the pressure on his windpipe. It was a self-destructive Pavlovian response to a wild-eyed and growling Shizuo: he couldn’t help it that Shizuo in this state sent his heart racing and shot a thrill through his blood. Already jittery from the sheer volatility of the crowd, Izaya was nearly in sensory overload at seeing Shizuo back in his natural, furious state. Izaya managed to squeeze out a laugh around the fingers constricting his neck and watched with a sort of sick delight as Shizuo’s expression went completely feral. _This_ was what the previous week had been deficient in. While their new found…partnership was oddly pleasant, it was _this_ that Izaya had been missing.

Shizuo leaned forward with a snarl and Izaya met him halfway until they were lightly bumping noses. In that one instant, the dynamic of the situation seemed to change entirely.

Both froze, as if everything they were doing was suddenly thrown into a different light. Izaya’s blood was still roaring in his ears, and in a moment of absolute weakness, his hips canted forward, driven by sheer instinct. The slow drag of fabric as their groins ground together was solid, heated sin. In that one spontaneous brush, Izaya felt his own desire mirrored on Shizuo in the hot rub of clothed flesh that made his mouth go dry.

Izaya paused, heart racing. He wasn’t sure how to proceed, pressed flush against Shizuo but still at the mercy of his choking grip. Izaya’s hips stuttered to a halt.

Shizuo whimpered.

He goddamn _whimpered_ and-

Rational thought was completely gone, obliterated in the face of primal need to _hear that noise again_. Izaya’s hips surged forward, grinding against Shizuo for the sort of friction that sent a jolt of fire straight up his spine. Shizuo let out a breathy moan and released his throat to grab desperately at his hips as Izaya wound a leg around Shizuo and _writhed_. Shizuo’s hands slipped further to hitch under his thighs, hoisting him up until both of Izaya’s legs were locking around the blond’s waist. Shizuo stumbled awkwardly, carrying them both further into the apartment while creating a symphony of crashes by hitting every surface possible along the way.

There was nothing sultry or calculated about it. As Shizuo ground upward between his legs, Izaya couldn’t give a flying fuck about being _coy_. In that one clear instant, he felt all the sexual tension of the past weeks ( _Months. Years._ ) flood through him, forcing the pressrubgrind _more_ that left nothing in between them but Shizuo’s harsh panting. Heat and pressure coiled at the base of his stomach, stuttering in small bursts of blinding perfection as he rode the pressure Shizuo was offering. It was impossible to tell whose breathy moans were filling the corridor. It didn’t matter as Izaya felt the slick condensation of sweat on the small of his back. He leaned forward, tilting his face down to meet Shizuo’s in a-

There was a sudden hammering on the door and the oddly fragile moment shattered, leaving Izaya feeling exposed and ragged. As Shizuo reflexively released him, Izaya stumbled backwards a few drunken steps, had a brief moment to take in Shizuo’s wrecked expression, and then fled for the safety of the bathroom like a spooked deer.

* * *

 _Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit_ _ **shit**_. The hammering continued for several more seconds as Shizuo forced his eyes to focus. After six more heaving breaths, he was able to return to a normal breathing rate, but this did nothing for the rampant desire that was wreaking havoc on his entire body. His gut was clenching painfully and his cock was twitching dejectedly as he relived that brief moment of Izaya stumbling backwards, mussed and beautiful and looking so vulnerable that Shizuo wanted nothing more than to just lick a possessive track right up-

The accursed hammering returned and Shizuo was snapped back to his senses. “ _Wait a goddamn minute_!” he snarled, ripping open the freezer door and clumsily pouring ice into a ziplock bag with shaking hands. Farther down the hall, he could hear a steady stream of Izaya’s cursing. He found their mutual misery oddly comforting.

With an infuriated hiss, he pressed the ice pack against the straining tent of his pants, swearing heartfelt and foully that he would _destroy_ whoever was at the door. Waiting several more moments, Shizuo swallowed dryly, adjusted himself, and tossed the bag aside. His… situation was hardly under control, but it was pretty inconspicuous unless the asshole at the door decided to stare directly at his crotch. Shizuo would almost welcome that. He was in need of killing something right about now.

Shizuo ripped the door open with enough force that the hinges let out a plaintive wail and twisted slightly in the cracking wood. He gave passing consideration to punching first and asking questions later when-

“Brother. Is everything alright?”

“Kasuka?” Shizuo blinked, swallowed dryly once more, and combed a hand awkwardly through his hair. “What,” he cleared his throat, hoping to god that his little brother didn’t read that huskiness for what it was, “what are you doing here?”

Kasuka gave him a considering look for a moment as Shizuo felt his entire face flush. Whatever Kasuka made of this reaction, he kept to himself. “There were a few things I wanted to discuss with you, but when I arrived here I found my agent loitering outside your door. I believe we should attend to this first to make sure there are no… misunderstandings.”

Shizuo glanced over his brother’s shoulder to see a cowering man staring back at him with eyes the size of saucers. Shizuo dug his fingers into the wood of the door frame and practiced a deep breathing technique that didn't help to calm him much, but _did_ help draw parallels to a rampaging bull. Amid the haze of fury and sexual frustration, he had to acknowledge that his brother’s timely arrival probably saved the man’s life and spared Shizuo a charge of homicide. Before he could make any sort of comment, however, a short series of muffled crashes drifted from the area of his bathroom.

“Do you want to address that?” Kasuka questioned, as deadpan as ever.

“Um, no. Izaya just needs some time to cool down. He’s having an existential crisis.”

Kasuka regarded him silently for another moment. “I wasn’t aware you were familiar with such concepts.”

“I’m not. I just know that he shouted “I’m having an existential crisis.””

Kasuka simply cleared his throat, and- oh god, _Kasuka_ was _clearing his throat_. His brother didn’t really do awkward- too much emotional investment- so the fact that he was clearing his throat and glancing around the apartment was about the equivalent of him stating “hey, I’m pretty sure I just interrupted you in the middle of sex; sorry about that”. If there was one benefit to the absolute mortification Shizuo was feeling, it was that it neatly took care of the remainder of his erection.

“Well, uh, come in I suppose,” Shizuo stated at last, opening the partially broken door further to let the two men in the hallway in. The agent skirted past him, keeping as much distance between them as physically possible in the small space. Kasuka followed and pitched his voice lowly so only Shizuo would hear him.

“You may want to fully button your shirt. There are nail marks on your collarbone.”

Shizuo had a feeling he was about to discover if it was, in fact, possible to die of embarrassment.

* * *

Izaya was not in the habit of denying solid facts, so he didn’t waste time pretending the situation was something that it wasn’t. He had to acknowledge what was going on here: Simon's enforced dating was actually pushing some verisimilitude into this bullshit relationship.

Izaya still didn’t buy into the “secretly in love” garbage the rest of the city was fixating on, but he and Shizuo _did_ have a certain magnetism towards one another. Even on the first day of being in one another’s presence they had collided violently. With their recent forced proximity, however, this… _thing_ was building momentum. Izaya was an observer of human behavior and could easily identify the pattern forming in his own life. Sooner or later, there wouldn’t be a distraction to break them up and they were going to end up fucking -filthy and furious- against the closest surface. A part of him wondered if that would really be such a bad thing. Another part of him wondered if stabbing himself in the face would help the situation at all.

Cool tile pressed against his forehead before Izaya realized he was leaning against the wall for support. The problem here was that despite his logical dissection of the situation, he was still sporting a stiffy painful enough to make his eyes cross. It only made it worse that he could hear Shizuo’s low rumble in the next room, talking with their uninvited guest. Izaya was not so pitiful yet that he had to resort to furtively masturbating in the bathroom (something he repeated ad nauseum until he was able to pull his hand away from his pants). In the next moment, however, he was able to catch the cadence of Kasuka’s voice. There was something so fundamentally disturbing about having Kasuka and masturbation in the same though that it did quite a lot to get his arousal under control. _Kasukblocked_ he thought to himself derisively with a self-depreciating snort.

Right. Now all he needed to do was pry himself back out of the bathroom and into the presence of Shizuo’s robotic brother, all the while pretending it was a normal bathroom break. This said nothing of the fact that he had literally no idea what to expect from Shizuo.

Fuck.

His hand moved on its own volition to retrieve his phone and before he knew it, he had sent a desperate text: [In a bathroom, trying not to masturbate]

Namie’s reply came back within a minute. [ _Is that code? That is the most detestable thing you have come up with yet. You are revolting_ ] Several more seconds. [ _Tell me this isn’t your attempt at sexting_ ]

[Please don’t project your fantasies onto my actions. I need help here, you execrable woman. I’m having all these *feelings*]

[ _Write a poem about it. Don’t be alarmed if you start to notice hair growing in new places_ ]

[NOT. HELPING.]

[ _I am not your mother- pester someone who actually cares_ ]

Izaya squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. [Are you suggesting I text my mother about masturbation? What is WITH you and incest?]

[ _Your insinuations are, as ever, juvenile and crass. Deal with your own problems. Normal people are just trying to give their naked brothers sensual massages at this hour. Don’t text me again_ ]

Izaya stared aghast at his phone and tried to decide which was more horrifying: that mental image, or the possibility that Namie had purposely invoked that mental image to help him. Regardless of her intent, his arousal was completely under control now. Time to leave the bathroom before he could contemplate her words any further.

“What’s this?” He asked upon opening the door and taking in the awkward scene that had developed in Shizuo’s living room. Heiwajima the younger was indeed in the apartment (verdict was in: withholding from a wank in the bathroom was a marvelous idea), and was dispassionately holding up a placating hand in response to Shizuo’s Murder Face. At the other end of the apartment, what looked to be a talent agent cowered in abject terror.

“This scum comes into my house,” Shizuo growled, “interrupting me about a stupid goddamn song-“

“It was exceptional,” the agent put in weakly. “Surely you’ve seen the response your song has gotten. It is a crime to keep that sort of talent untapped.”

Ah. So that’s what this was about. Izaya glanced out of the corner of his eye at the cracking sound that turned out to be Shizuo ripping the back off of one of his dining room chairs. It was sheer sympathy for the already abused apartment that drove Izaya to intervene.

“It is wholly depressing that our society can be moved by such lyrics. I believe Shizu-chan’s ode to my beauty was something along the lines of “a carp that has maybe been punched in the face a couple of times”. This is to say nothing of his singing voice, which sounds like an orgling alpaca.”

The talent agent swallowed and apparently tried to rally himself. “The population finds the innovative lyrics refreshing. And I _heard_ the video-“

“Kids will autotune anything these days. Shameful, really.”

“But, but it wasn’t just that. Your dancing-“

Izaya cocked his head. “Hm? I don’t recall dancing. I reeled backwards from the unwarranted aural assault of Shizu-chan’s singing, nothing more.”

The man was nothing if not persistent. “That can’t explain the sort of maneuver-“

“I tripped on a cat.”

“You were pivoting around the entire-“

“I tripped on multiple cats. I daresay I tripped on an entire clowder of cats.”

“I didn’t see any-“

“Yes, yes. The modern alley cat is highly evolved with a coat that blends in seamlessly with asphalt and broken beer bottles. A true miracle of nature. So as you see, this trip was unfortunately in vain. Sorry for wasting your time. Buh-bye.” Izaya steered the man in the direction of the exit before slamming the door in his face. The cretin probably didn’t even appreciate that Izaya had just saved his worthless life. Izaya turned to find the Heiwajima brothers regarding him curiously.

“You tripped on a _cat_?,” Shizuo questioned in the silence.

“Don’t even start with me. I’m not exactly at my wittiest right now. So, Kasuka-kun, what is the occasion?”

“I was going to ask the same thing,” Kasuka deadpanned quietly. “I feel as if I am interrupting something.”

Izaya was fairly certain he ruptured something internally in his effort to hold back the bitter laughter.

“Nothing of the sort. Just a regular little lover’s spat. You know how it goes.” Izaya smiled winningly.

Kasuka somehow managed to broadcast a displeased intensity with a completely blank expression. Perhaps someone had informed him he had to play the protective brother this evening and he had taken the assignment to heart. “It is said that actors sometimes lose themselves in a role, Izaya-san. It is best if you don’t blur the lines between reality and fiction when you are not giving an actual performance.”

“Wise words, though I am always _entirely sincere_ in all my actions, I assure you.” Izaya was so morbidly curious at someone actually standing up for Shizuo that he couldn’t help antagonizing the young actor for a bit of further observation.

“That is reassuring then,” Kasuka stated flatly. “My brother is very emotionally invested in everything he does. He would be deeply hurt if things he thought were real were just an elaborate act. I tell you this only because I would hate for you to get hurt as well, emotionally or otherwise, with a misunderstanding.”

Izaya couldn’t help the surprised laughter. “Are you _threatening me_? Oh my goodness, that’s precious.”

“Flea…” Shizuo growled in warning. Izaya sigh.

“Fine, fine, consider me properly cowed and holding a suitable reverence for Shizu-chan’s chastity.”

“Who said anything about chastity?” Shizuo squeaked, turning bright red. Izaya was moved by such a sudden and profound wave of affection that he almost had to defenestrate himself in the name of his self-respect. God help him, he wanted to _run his fingers through the man’s hair_ and reassure him there was nothing to be flustered about. His life was in shambles.

When he turned his attention back to Kasuka, he caught the tail end of a mildly pleased expression which he found equal parts insulting and terrifying. _DAMN_   _IT_. A small part of him wanted to do something profoundly assholish just to maintain his image, but it was outweighed by the part that didn’t want to push Shizuo away during this oddly personal evening they were having. Clearly, a little part of Izaya was dying inside. He would have to seek medical attention after Kasuka left and/or after he got laid.

“Well then,” Kasuka cut in. Thank goodness for small favors, because Izaya was starting to feel the beginnings of arousal just with that simple stupid thought process and _this really could not be happening to him_. “I won’t stay too long. I just came to warn you that you may want to keep a lower profile for awhile. The crowd response to your relationship has always been a bit ridiculous, but I think something else is in motion now. I understand the point you are trying to make, but perhaps take a break for a week or two, at least until the riots and gang fights calm down a bit.”

“Well said, Kasuka-kun,” Izaya agreed. It was a surprising gift that he actually had the younger man to back up his next plan of action. Shizuo was much more likely to listen to his little brother’s ideas than any of Izaya’s. Kasuka gave a single acknowledging nod, stared at Izaya thoughtfully for a few uncomfortable moments, and then let himself out.

Shizuo and Izaya stood in awkward silence for a good three minutes, staring at everything but each other. _Why do people intentionally seek this feeling out_? Izaya wondered queasily to himself.

“Well, I’ll be going-“

“Do you want to-?” Shizuo asked in the same instant. Izaya glanced up to see the same reluctant, conflicted misery in Shizuo. They really hadn’t asked for this, but it remained a horrible comfort that they were facing this situation together. It was so quaint Izaya could vomit.

“I’m going to stop by my parents’ house tonight. I may be staying in Ikebukuro for a bit, so I’ll find you tomorrow?” Izaya really needed to get out of there as quickly as possible. He needed to mentally regroup before he did something he’d regret.

“If it’s about the chastity thing-“ Shizuo stated haltingly before tapering off. Oh god oh god oh god, if he didn’t get out of there _right then_ , Izaya was deathly afraid he was going to kiss the man.

“I really don’t need to hear the ending of that sentence, Shizu-chan. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Like the coward he was, Izaya was out the door before he heard Shizuo’s response. His crotch proceeded to inform he was a _moron_ the entire walk to his childhood home. It wasn’t until he was nearly in the front yard that Izaya stopped short. In his distracted state, he had completely forgotten to factor in a major complication for the next few days. His sisters.

Ugh.

Even acknowledging the forecasted teenage hurricane, however, Izaya felt an unwarranted level of relief when his eyes settled on the house. Disregarding the fact that civilians were starting to ID him on sight (hardly a good omen for his ilk) and the fact that he had missed a check-in phone session with Shiki (he doubted the boss would be overly sympathetic to the excuse of “a supernatural being melted my contact phone for you and I didn’t want to call on an unknown number”), he was plagued by an uncomfortable set of urges revolving around one infuriating faux-blond. Izaya was uncertain which desire was winning out: sending Shizuo a teasing love letter, making a scrapbook as a non-creepy excuse to stare at the other man’s face, or just giving up the ghost entirely, going back to Shizuo’s apartment, and humping the other man’s leg like an ill-mannered dog. Yes, with all of these annoyances vying for Izaya’s increasingly frazzled attention, he had a very teen-like urge to slink into the shadows and hide from humanity for a bit.

It took all of opening the front door of his old house to dispel these illusions.

“Diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeee!”

Izaya sighed, ducked out of the doorway, and rolled behind the coat rack for cover. Such a greeting gave him a certain level of nostalgia even if it did nothing for his current state of exasperation. He made a mental note to instill a new family rule about assaulting siblings when they were clearly wallowing in a pit of sexual frustration.

“Why is Iza-nii befouling our home with his horrid presence?” Mairu asked, hands fisted firmly on her hips after she recovered gracefully from her fruitless flying kick. A suitable riposte would have been to question why his little sister was lurking in the entryway like a blood thirsty Chihuahua, poised to attack anything that came through the front door. Tragically, thinking about Shizuo all the way home meant that Izaya was still physically compromised in the crotch department, so he was devoting his considerable intellect to the much more pressing problem of getting out of his protective crouch and past his nosy sister without her detecting said compromised state. In result, he remained hunched in an uncharacteristic and awkward silence.

“Trouble (what have you done now?),” Kururi whispered, peeking out from behind her twin. Of course Kururi was here as well. The two thrived on being the embodiment of some sort of nightmarish Doublemint commercial.

Izaya raised his hand and reflexively caught Mairu’s next kick. Tying a conveniently close coat sleeve around her ankle, he stood with hunched shoulders, letting his own long coat hide the problem for the time being. Mairu tugged at her restraint and promptly had the coat rack collapse on top of her. As her muffled voice drifted out curses from the pile of clothing, Izaya glanced down at his quieter sibling. “Can’t I just come and visit my family for a few short days? I feel so unloved. Perhaps our parents will be more welcoming; are they home?”

Mairu let out a derisive snort before snaking free of the clothing pile. “Are they ever home? Now spill. An awful, vile creature such as Iza-nii wouldn’t come home just for a ‘family visit’. Are the yakuza trying to kill you? Do you have a rogue angry client? Is Shizuo-san hot on your tail? I won’t tolerate you bringing trouble home and putting Kuru-nee in danger. And stop hunching like that- you look like you’re trying to sell us drugs.”

“Suspicious (what’s really going on?).”

Izaya spent one long moment staring tiredly at two pairs of curious crimson eyes before shaking his head, walking out of the foyer, and climbing up the stairs.

“Hey!” Mairu called after him. “You can’t just ignore us in our own house!”

“Concern (this is really atypical behavior),” was Kururi’s contributing whisper.

Izaya blocked them both out by slamming his door shut and collapsing face first onto his old bed. Glossy paper mashed against his nose, and he sat up just enough to get a clear view of a rather voluptuous pair of breasts. Further survey revealed Mairu had apparently been using his room as storage for her porn. He couldn’t help the frustrated groan that escaped him.

“Stop getting off to my magazines!” Mairu called through the door

 _This has to be karma,_ Izaya thought desolately. _There is no way simple chance is this sadistic_.

He face planted back into the porn and resigned himself to his fate.

* * *

The room was insultingly mundane, though the occupants themselves didn’t look particularly auspicious. A decrepit old woman sat organizing her alarmingly pink skirts, seemingly more invested in arranging them artistically over her riding boots than she was in the conversation she was having with the lithe, angular man across from her.

“I have access to nearly the entire city now due to the pandemonium,” the man was stating excitedly, bouncing one leg with excessive energy.

“What city?” The old woman warbled. “Eh? Tokyo? I though we were in Loughcrew? Oh, what a lovely location, Loughcrew. Have you been to the tombs? Lovely, those. ” To the untrained ear, the questions seemed like the demented ramblings of a mind moth-eaten by age. To the man, it was just passive-aggressive as all hell.

“You should be pleased to know this most recent visit also verified that the demon sword can slice through fortified iron,” he continued with the sort of exasperation one reserved for conversations known to be a lost cause. He flitted to the other side of the room and with a wave of his hand made all of the legs of a nearby table uneven in a bid to vent his frustration.

“What chicanery, you naughty, tricky little boy. Those parents of yours were a lot more dynamic in their tomfoolery though, Larry."

"Stop calling me Larry, you heinous bag of wailing uselessness. I don't see _you_ fixing this situation. Too frail to climb back on the horse, hm?"

For the briefest moment, the old woman's eye held hellfire before she was babbling again. "I was just telling Gale about my new cloth cutter, right fit bit of work there. So simple, but gets the job done so speedily! No distractions, no bells and whistles, just high quality production like we had in the old days. They don't make things like they used to,” she warbled before lapsing back into silence, smacking her gums absently and staring rheumily into the middle distance.

"I hate you so much," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Let me show you a picture of Inferno as a puppy!" was the old witch's stunning rejoinder before she started digging around frantically in a bag that could have encompassed half her body. 

The man tried very hard not to punch her in her age-spotted face. “No one likes you,” he proclaimed, “and it has nothing at all to do with the whole death aspect of your job. I am curious why you even have the hounds. Your charming demeanor alone is enough to corral wayward souls.”

“What’s that, Larry?” the old woman asked, voice suddenly loud and tremulous. “Speak up! These old ears can’t make out your babbling!”

The man let out a humorless guffaw. “Regardless of your standing, you can’t manipulate _me_ , Mallt. Save your senility act for someone who will buy it. And cut with the nagging, I will get us out of here. Almost all the pieces are in position. I just need my brilliant little general to mobilize them for me. He’s a spirited wee thing though: quite unpredictable. It’s delightful!” At the silence, the puck continued, “I suppose I can set some of the peripheral players in motion to motivate him if you are so impatient.”

The puck turned to find the old woman had dozed off in her chair. In a fit of spite, he procured a cloud of spiders for her to wake up to before wandering out of the room. There were a few higher ups in the facility he needed to prod into action to get this ball rolling.

* * *

 Shizuo’s breath was a warm mist against his neck. Izaya inhaled sharply, feeling the tremble of desire shake its way down his legs.

“Iza-“ Shizuo’s high and breathless voice was doing unspeakable things to Izaya at that very moment.

“Come on,” Izaya whispered, pushing back up into the solid weight where Shizuo was straddling him. He couldn’t recall how precisely he had ended up in this situation, but it was clear Shizuo was calling his bluff. It was time to fold his hand and deal with the consequences. This particular defeat felt suspiciously like relief. Shizuo increased the pressure on his groin, and Izaya couldn’t help the small, wanton whimper that escaped him as he canted his hips up to meet the pressure in kind. “Shizu-chan…”

“Oh IzaIza! My beloved! My sex kitten! Let us screw, hot and dirty, over every surface in this room! Twice!”

Izaya’s eyes snapped open as his stomach gave a horrible lurch.

“I cannot _believe_ it is true!” Mairu proclaimed with feverish glee in between peals of laughter that shook through her frame. Her manic grin was so wide that it almost eclipsed Kururi, who was watching the two of them curiously in the background. Letting out a strangled, inarticulate noise, Izaya bolted upright in his bed, toppling Mairu to the ground from where she had been perched on his stomach. He was too busy gripping the sheets and staring sightlessly at the far wall to be overly concerned about how that grin took on a predatory edge. He was quite certain the negative reinforcement he had received over the last few days was well on its way to giving him erectile dysfunction.

Izaya really wasn’t done having an internal freak out by the time Mairu’s eyes and nose popped back into view at the edge of his bed. He felt like he was being physically assaulted by her glee. “Iza-nii has _finally_ done something worthwhile in his useless life! When is the marriage? The sooner you hold it, the sooner Kuru-nee and I can dance with Yuuhei-san.”

“Priorities (I don’t think that should be our focus right now),” Kururi mumbled, though her cheeks were stained a bright pink. Whether this was attributed to the thought of dancing with Kasuka or in response to the horrendously awkward situation the three were in, it was difficult to say.

“Why is Iza-nii sitting here like some sort of pitiful, horny teenager with nothing but wet dreams for entertainment though?” He really needed to speak with their parents about censoring whatever the hell Mairu was reading these days. “Go sex him up, tiger!”

“Sweet (maybe they are saving themselves for their wedding night).”

“Screw that! How are you guys ever going to have marathon, Olympian sex during your honeymoon if you don’t start practicing now?” Mairu was beating him over the head with some sort of pamphlet. Izaya could do nothing for a moment but sit there and wonder when his life had slipped into this cruel parody. That lasted until Mairu managed to poke him in the eye.

“Okay, _out_ ,” he demanded, snatching the pamphlet from her hand and gesticulating angrily towards the door with it.

Mairu pouted dramatically. “We are being supportive of Iza-nii’s alternative lifestyle. Why do you always push us away just when we are starting to connect?” The statement had the potential to actually make him feel a bit guilty, if only she hadn’t followed up with, “is it because you are uncomfortable being aroused in the presence of your little sisters? Society these days is too close-mouthed about sexuality. You should embrace-“

“ _OUT._ ”

“Mean (now you are just being unnecessarily abrasive, likely out of sexual frustration).”

“ _Kururi_!”

The two scuttled out of the door and slammed it behind them as Izaya pinched the bridge of his nose. If his hunch was to be believed- and he _always_ had good hunches- he needed to keep away from his apartment for a few days in the interest of personal longevity. If this single night was anything to go by, however, his sanity wouldn’t be able to withstand wiling away his self-imposed exile in his old home. A small part of him balked at the thought of haunting Shizuo’s apartment for the waking hours of those few days, but he was far less likely to want to hang himself in Shizuo’s presence than the rest of humanity at the moment. Fucked up inverted world. He could only imagine the hysteria that would develop if word got out where he was staying though. That would have been all fine and good, if a fried cell phone hadn’t just convinced him to change his tactics. Izaya templed his fingers. Objectively, the predicament was hilarious. The problem being that objectivity had been tossed out the window ages ago.

His room’s door cracked open slightly as one of his sisters lobbed something into the room before slamming the door closed to a chorus of giggles. Izaya didn’t need to look down to know it was a box of condoms. He _did_ need to look down to discover they were Hello Kitty condoms.

There were no words for his level of murderous rage. Well. By "murderous rage" he probably meant pervasive and indelible exhaustion towards the entire situation.

Right. Enough moping. Izaya pushed himself to his feet, and glanced down at the brochure that was still clenched in his fist. “So You’ve Decided to Embrace Buttsex!” it declared in cheery balloon lettering above a man grinning maniacally and sharing a thumbs up with the reader. Izaya stared at the shockingly offensive title for a few moments before shrugging and flipping to the next page.

He was nearly finished with it by the time he had gathered his personal effects. He had to give credit to Raira if this was indeed one of their handouts. Gone were the days of vague wording and forced, light-hearted tones: its user manual format left Izaya overly-informed and irredeemably scarred. Who knew there were so many ways to insert tab A into slot B? He ended up lighting the thing on fire, partially out of a delusional hope that Mairu hadn’t already read it, and partially for the fact fire seemed to be the only way he could find happiness anymore. Wasn’t pyromania one of the harbingers of a budding serial killer? He shrugged once more.

Izaya slipped down the stairs and located one of his remaining coats (they were rapidly becoming an endangered species). He almost made it out undetected until the _snick_ of the opening door outed him.

“Is Iza-nii off to romance his one true love?” Mairu sing-songed . Foiled.

“I hardly see how that is any of your concern,” he replied with mirrored cheerfulness. He was halfway through slipping out the door when he decided to pop his head back in. Izaya fixed his sisters with a broad smile, which they regarded with all due wariness. “By the way, I thought you two were trying to emulate a complete human being. Doesn’t that mean one of you should embrace the inner hipster and despise Hanejima Yuuhei as ‘too mainstream’?”

He made his way through the frosty, early winter morning with a spring in his step, spirits considerably improved with the memory of their stricken expressions.

* * *

He honestly had no idea why he was carrying the stupid coat.

Shizuo glanced down once more, perplexed by the soft dark wool of the pea coat that was draped over one of his arms. It wasn’t like he had gone out of his way to find it or anything. It was just sitting there, slim and fashionable, in the display window he had thrown a debtor through, and he was assaulted by the knowledge that Izaya would probably look good in it. Not that that had any bearing on the situation. He had purchased the coat to Tom’s interest and Vorona’s growing ire simply as a replacement for the coats he had destroyed over the last few weeks. As he had said with the ring, he simply didn’t want to owe the Flea anything. He felt the disproportionate weight of Izaya’s original ring in his pocket, a not-so-subtle reminder of that little half lie.

Shizuo shook his head in an effort to dispel that stupid line of thinking. He was being foolish. At best, Izaya would just laugh if presented with the coat. At worst, he’d find some way to use it as leverage. Shizuo had just resolved to return the coat the following day when he reached his apartment door and found it unlocked. More curious than alarmed, he pushed it open further (still needed to fix those hinges) and found Izaya sitting at his table, tapping along on a netbook and sipping hot chocolate. He couldn’t have been there long, as his cheeks were still pink from the cold and his hair was still mildly wind tousled. He was an effortlessly attractive nidus of fucking confusion.

Shizuo must have made some noise of surprise, because Izaya looked up and grinned. Shizuo passingly wondered when the expression had stopped giving him the urge to punch the other man in the face.

“Hey Shizu-chan, I broke into your apartment, terribly sorry. I made hot chocolate as a consolation,” he indicated to the stove, where there appeared to be a pot of the drink made from scratch. Shizuo was fairly certain a comprehensive list of all of his groceries included milk, gum, thirteen packets of ramen, and a quarter of a pizza that was spawning its own botanical garden at the back of his fridge. Either Izaya could procure cocoa from potted plant soil or he had planned in advance and had brought the necessary ingredients with him.

For lack of a proper response, Shizuo shuffled over and poured himself a mug. Oh god. It was warm and sweet and had _cinnamon_ and…and it was basically everything he wanted after a long cold morning of dealing with blithering assholes. Izaya watched him over the rim of his own mug. Somehow that look of smug satisfaction was a lot less irritating than Shizuo remembered. That was probably just the rapid spike in his blood sugar clouding his judgment though. Taking two more wonderful sips for good measure, Shizuo cleared his throat and tossed the coat over to Izaya. Apparently the man only had lightning fast reflexes when he felt in danger, as the coat smacked him in the side of the head and hung down over half of his face as he continued to type away industriously.

“Yes, Shizu-chan? Is there a reason you are halfheartedly assaulting me with outerwear?”

Shizuo transferred his attention back to his mug, and watched flecks of cinnamon and some other fancy spice swirl in the dark liquid. “You need a coat that doesn’t appear like you just slaughtered a petting zoo,” he muttered before taking another sip of the hot chocolate.

When the silence began to stretch, Shizuo glanced up to find Izaya had shrugged into the jacket and was pulling it around himself. He smiled contently as he nestled his cheek against the dark wool.

Shizuo had been right: it did look good on him. Shizuo also may have just let out a highly embarrassing squeal.

He blinked. No, actually. While the sound did a pretty good job of matching his sentiments, Shizuo hadn’t actually made it. He was able to deduce this for two reasons: one, it was far too high pitched for him to achieve, and two, it had come from –and continued to come from- the coat closet.

Izaya finished buttoning up the coat, took a proprietary sip from his own cocoa, and then calmly walked over to the closet. Shizuo kind of wanted to stop him- a Harry Potter flashback informed him that a closet would be a perfect place for a boggart, and a fangirl would be its perfect form. Shizuo had just opened his mouth when Izaya yanked open the door to allow Erika and Walker to topple to the floor. In what was becoming the standard for their interactions, Walker looked about ready to use vomiting as a defense mechanism, and Erika… Erika continued to squeal.

“What even-“ Shizuo muttered, wondering when his quiet, lonely apartment had become such a hub of activity.

“How long were you in there?” Izaya asked cheerfully. Shizuo got the distinct impression he was actually quite irritated, as if checking the closet for stalker otaku should have been his first action upon breaking into Shizuo’s apartment himself.

As Erika was too busy fisting her hands in front of her mouth and giggling in a highly alarming manner, Walker was the one to respond.

“Ah, uh, not long. Not long at all. We were just dropping by to leave a message from Simon and got frightened when we heard the door opening.”

Even Shizuo could appreciate that there were some major holes in that story, and by Izaya’s sharp grin it was clear the Flea was about to tear them wide open. Shizuo took another sip of hot chocolate. Calmed by the sweet, spicy flavor, he was surprised to find that once beyond his reflexive rage he really didn’t care. Izaya’s eyes had just narrowed in a predatory fashion when Shizuo spoke up. “Fine, whatever. What is the message?”

Izaya slanted him a look that Shizuo was startled to find he actually understood. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ it managed to broadcast without cracking the Flea’s cheerful veneer. Shizuo rolled his eyes- ‘relax, it’s no big deal’. Izaya’s eyes narrowed further, but he remained silent. When had the Flea _ever_ deferred to Shizuo’s judgment? Shizuo’s mood improved further.

“Simon said he’s surrendering,” Walker started, eying the two other men nervously. “The city is a veritable disaster and he would rather admit defeat than watch more people get hurt. He wanted us to make sure you two felt suitably horrible- his exact words were “I am as giant panda they punch in mouth.” I think it was supposed to make you feel bad about attacking a benign giant. Personally, I wouldn’t feel too guilty. You never know when pandas are actually men with genderbending children-”

Erika clapped a hand over Walker’s mouth and beamed at the two of them with a level of mania that was usually a hallmark of a neurological disorder. “But all of that is irrelevant, seeing how in love you two are! Don’t think I don’t see those coy glances you two keep sending each other! If you want to forge your love in fire, blood, and the financial ruin of your city, who are we to stop you? Stop with the eye sex and get with the real sex is what I say!” She let out another delighted giggle and glanced rapidly back and forth between the two.

Shizuo shared another look with Izaya. It hadn't escaped his notice that he still didn't really know Izaya's plan, and as grating as it was to admit, it appeared Izaya's original plan _had_ had the desired effect of getting Simon to back the hell off. Izaya shot Shizuo a quick wink, thereby taking control of the conversation and sending Shizuo's stomach floating up into his throat with butterflies.

“Really,” Erika continued, “All I'm saying is I don’t think anyone one would be _particularly bothered_ if you decided to keep dating. You know. For your own gratification.”

“For the sake of argument, let’s say we continued dating,” Izaya started. Shizuo raised an interested eyebrow over the top of his mug. Erika went back into fits. “Would Simon pay us off? We get the city back in order and he supplies us with free sushi as a form of Protection payment?”

“I don’t think we have the authority-“ Walker started.

“Done!” Erika finished. “I’ll go let Simon know. You two lovebirds get back to whatever- or whoever, hehehehehehe- you were about to do!” She skipped out of the room. Shizuo thought that against all logic, she may have left a trail of bubbles and sparkles in her wake. Walker slunk after her, muttering to himself and swatting sparkles out of his way as he went.

“Really Flea?” Shizuo asked without rancor. “ _Really_?”

Izaya had a genuinely pleased grin. “Really. You heard your brother: the destruction in Ikebukuro is getting truly excessive. Whatever else we disagree on- I know, I know, it is basically everything, stop giving me that look- we both love Ikebukuro. This is continuing the plan of laying low, and getting free sushi in the process.”

“Yeah…” Shizuo muttered. Not that he liked Ikebukuro burning or anything, but he _would_ kind of miss getting to stretch his muscles. He toyed with the mug in his hands as Izaya rocked back and forth on his heels, grinning widely.

“Hah! Such a childish expression, Shizu-chan. Adorable. No need to look so glum though. We are going to attempt to restore order to the city, which will push even you to your limits. It is comic-book-level chaos out there and between my connections and your superhuman strength, we’re going to make you a superhero.” His grin was radiant, causing his cheeks to dimple and laughter lines to gather at the corners of his eyes. It was so devastatingly attractive and so unlike the razor sharp mockery he was used to that Shizuo made an abortive gesture to touch the other man's face. Shizuo instead adjusted his glasses to hide the movement and firmly told himself to _focus on what the Flea was saying, for fuck's sake._

A part of Shizuo was absolutely delighted at the prospect of the new plan- getting to use his strength to protect what he cared about was literally a dream come true. His greatest hesitation came from the fact that it was Izaya who suggested it.

“It was your idea to cause all this chaos in the first place, I-za-ya-kun.”

There was a flash of something sour in Izaya’s expression before it was buried under his chronic cheer. “I don’t suppose you would believe me if I said that actually may _not_ have been my idea?”

“Yeah, no.”

Izaya sighed dramatically. “This really wasn’t my end goal. Everything I touch is ruined.”

“No _shit._ ”

“Your words are hurtful,” Izaya's shoulders shook with laughter as he once more sat himself in front of the netbook, eyes scanning the scrolling text he had missed. “Thank you for the coat, by the way. You realize I’m just going to sew fur onto it though, right?”

Shizuo took a seat across from Izaya at the table, noting by the clock that he would have to head back to work soon. He wondered how masochistic it was to leave Izaya unsupervised in his house. “Yeah, I figured. You ready to tell me what the hell is going on?”

It was completely idiotic how fond he was becoming of the Flea’s laughter. More concerning, Izaya turned his full attention to Shizuo, gave one deep breath, and started gesticulating with clear chopping motions. “I have been manipulated into falling in love with you in order to liberate chaos itself and now have a multinational corporation trying to mitigate my influence in order to prevent this event, likely in the interest of protecting their investment of pursing immortality by the most asinine route possible.”

Shizuo blinked in silence for a moment. “Well. Thank fuck that made complete sense and answered all of my questions.” Izaya's laughter was taking on a frenetic edge, which really would have been more concerning if Shizuo hadn't already been convinced a decade prior that the man was batshit insane. “Just for a change of pace, want to try putting that in layman's terms?”

There were literal tears at the corner of Izaya's eyes by the time he was able to get himself under control. “People are trying to kill me. Well, people are always trying to kill me, but now it is becoming an inconvenience.” That would have been a profoundly depressing statement had Shizuo not understood it implicitly. “Also, Celty is having an unintentional family reunion in the city and unless we actively try to fix it, this fact means the the destruction in the city is only going to get worse. So, in the interest of being contrary to as many people trying to manipulate me as possible, we are going to stop the chaos to piss off the cause, remain in a relationship to piss off Simon, and then get rid of the underlying problem to piss off the corporation. Sound like a plan?”

Shizuo took a deep gulp of cocoa, finishing off the mug before he stood from the table. “Honestly, I still have no idea what you just said. The condensed version is you are angry over being manipulated though, right?”

“Yes,” Izaya responded slowly, a bit too much amusement in his expression to pull off patronizing.

“Man, that's a terrible feeling, isn't it? I can completely understand why it would piss you off.”

Izaya's laughter was regaining its genuine edge. “Get out of here, you incorrigible cur. I’ll get in contact with Namie, have her transfer over some contact information, and will come up with a loose plan we can go over tonight.”

“You and that woman are, what, in a relationship?”

“Namie? Heavens no. Our coefficient of relatedness is too low for her taste and her lack of a penis is too off-putting for mine. If you are concerned about outside influences on the stability of our relationship, I would put more emphasis on your homicidal blonde Russian. The last time I saw her on the street, she made a slicing motion across her neck. It’s kind of a universally understood sign.”

Shizuo chuckled. “Vorona? Don’t be ridiculous- she’s totally harmless. She’s probably just trying to be friendly. I should get back to them actually.” Shizuo gave a languid stretch before he grabbed his bag and headed towards the door. The reluctance to leave was a novelty.

“There’s bento in the fridge if you want something other than liquid sugar before you head back,” Izaya called, not looking up from where he was typing. Shizuo froze before slowly making his way back to the fridge and retrieving the lunch box. He lifted the lid to look at the neatly arranged food, and the growling of his stomach was surpassed by the building emotion scratching around in his chest. It was the first bento anyone had made for him since elementary school.

Shit.

This situation was really going to hurt when it blew up in his face.

For the time being, however, Shizuo decided to relish the illusion of someone else caring about his well being. It wasn’t a delusion if he knew it wasn’t real, right?

“ _Poka_ (Bye),” he whispered on his way out.

Izaya looked up with a brilliant smile, its edges curling as elegantly as the signature on a death warrant. “ _Do svidanya_ (Good bye).”

Shizuo shut his partially broken door to the warm light and scents of cinnamon and cocoa before heading back out into the bitter cold.

* * *

The bento was _delicious_. That was, until lulled into a false sense of security, Shizuo downed what appeared to be an unagi roll that was in actuality stuffed with habanero peppers. Once he was able to breathe again, he gave a scream loud enough to reach Izaya back in his apartment. Izaya reflected on the joy of the simple things in his life.

 


	6. Date 5 and 3/4: May As Well Rip Off Harry Potter As Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shizu-Man makes an illustrious debut, Izaya indulges in a surplus of ugly sweaters, Namie regrets all of her life choices up to this moment, and a trio of supernatural ladies get down to business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Through a sequence of unfortunate events, this chapter is getting up about 7 days later than I anticipated. In the name of being vaguely punctual, it is going up without beta'ing, so all inane, idiotic typos are my own :)
> 
> Also, you may be wondering where in canon this story takes place. The honest answer is "after season one with a smattering of light novel characters because I felt like it, and season 2 wasn't a thing". Please give a round of applause for my spectacular lack of foresight! Anachronisms are fun! Where is Akane right now? Who knows! Is Slon even in existence? Your guess is as good as mine!

Anri toyed with the tea cup in her hand, trying to look everywhere but at the poised, beautiful woman across from her. Her one and only goal for the time being was to not be a horrible house guest. Amid all of her stressing, however, she realized she had been silent for over ten minutes. _Shit!_ she thought in a panic, flushing and bursting into an awkward stutter.

“Um, oh, w-well, thank you for saving me, Hijiribe-san. I… I don’t want to inconvenience you…”she tapered off gawkily, catching sight of her host’s slightly troubled expression. Even that was lovely. Meeting Hijiribe Ruri in real life was a humbling experience: the woman was inhumanly beautiful. She had even managed to hatch from the wolf costume in one graceful, effortless movement that still didn’t make a lot of physical sense. The discarded costume lay in the corner, ineffably possessing the heat, smell, and sinew of a real wolf. Anri’s life had been so odd up to that point that she supposed it was pointless to start balking at further oddness now.

“He should have been back by now,” Ruri muttered absently in her soft, melancholy voice.

“I’m sorry…?” Anri asked, but the actress seemed to have slipped back into intense introversion. That was fine by Anri, who was suffering from an endorphin high she hadn’t felt since meeting Celty. She frowned, examining the attraction she was feeling, which seemed to be a worrying trend. Given Ruri’s continued contemplative silence, Anri didn’t think it was too rude to excuse herself to the restroom.

“Ryuugamine-kun,” she whispered into her phone once she made it to a bathroom that was larger than her entire apartment.

“Sonohara-san, are you okay?” Mikado sounded exhausted. “Are you safe indoors? I’m worried there is about to be a pretty nasty conflict. Try to stay off the streets, okay? I know it sounds radical, but find a safe place and just skip a couple of days of school, okay?”

“S-sure Ryuugamine-kun. Are you okay?”

His laughter was so forced and light it made her teeth ache. “Of course, of course! Everything is fine! So fine! Life as usual! Boring old me! But enough about me- is something wrong?”

“Not really wrong, it’s just that I think I may be a lesbian,” she stated ponderously. There was a sharp intake of breath, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a tumbled down the stairs. There were a few heartfelt curses before the phone cut off.

Anri stared at her phone with a thoughtful frown, but the fact that Mikado was able to curse probably meant he was okay? She sure hoped so. It these moments, she felt Masaomi’s absence most acutely (attraction woes, not Mikado falling down stairs. Well. Maybe both). Surely Masaomi  would offer to date both Anri and Ruri and would turn the situation from confusing to jovial. That thought process definitely had lurking angst in every corner, however, so Anri distracted herself for a few more minutes with observing the contents of the medicine cabinet (either Ruri or her apartment-mate had a compulsive level of honey-based bath products). This behavior was bordering on stalkerish, however, so Anri gave a defeated sigh and left the bathroom just as jittery as she had entered it.

Wandering back out, she accidentally caught the tail end of Ruri’s own phone conversation.

“Is it not your job to be with him constantly? To guard him?” She was asking in a tone that was anything but meek. She went silent, listening to the response. Nothing changed in her quiet, melancholy expression, but the call was ended abruptly when she crumpled the cell phone in her hand. She glanced up to catch sight of Anri and didn’t even bother to make an excuse as her mangled phone fell to the floor.

“May I borrow your phone, Sonohara-san?” Anri handed it over silently, at a loss as to what was going on. Ruri punched in a phone number that Anri’s phone immediately recognized and started a text.

She held the screen so that it was visible to Anri, so Anri didn’t feel too nosy craning her neck to make out the message. [Celty-san, it is Hirijibe Ruri]

 _[Is Anri-chan alright?]_ the impersonal screen somehow managed to convey Celty’s deep worry.

[Yes, she is fine, I am borrowing her phone. I would like to employ your services]

 _[… of course]_ It was clear Celty was somewhat thrown by the brisk tone. _[Would you like me to come meet you in person?]_

[That is not necessary. I need you to assure me of something though. I need you to keep this quiet from your friend Heiwajima-san]

 _[Shizuo?]_ there was a pause in the messaging. _[I am usually very discreet with business matters, but I reserve the right to that final decision]_

Ruri was all business now, sharp focus aligned solely on the phone in her hand [That is acceptable. We will split the city in half- you take the west end. We are looking for Yuuhei-san. When you find who is responsible for his absence, please bring them to me. I would like to deal with them personally]

 _[Consider it done]_ The response was far more rapid this time.

[Thank you Celty-san] Ruri snapped closed the phone and passed it back to Anri with quiet thanks.

“Forgive me for being such a rude host, Sonohara-san. You are welcome and encouraged to stay here until I get back, and may use any amenities you would like. Don’t be alarmed if you hear strange noises- it’s just the cat.”

“Um,” Anri said as Ruri turned to leave, “I may be able to be of some help. Surveillance is something of a specialty of mine.”

Ruri regarded her curiously, unconsciously flexing her metal-crushing fingers. _I’m sorry Ryuugamine-kun_ , Anri thought absently. His warning would have to suffer some benign neglect. Under Ruri’s watchful gaze, Anri’s eyes turned red.

* * *

It wasn’t long before Ikebukuro enthusiastically embraced the fact they had their very own superhero. He had even, for a brief period of time, been dubbed “Shizu-Man”, until those who were caught using the title were found lodged in brick walls. Well-meaning fans who presented him with hand-sewn spandex outfits met a similar fate. This did nothing to dampen the crowd’s love for their superhero, however. It was a bit vague if they loved him so much for the fact that someone was finally addressing the gangs that had laid siege to Ikebukuro’s streets, or if they were simply enjoying the dramatics of _having_  a superhero. What was uncontested was that Shizuo had rapidly gone from one of the most feared men in the city to one of the most beloved.

Izaya was a conundrum for the rumor mill. The populous seemed firmly divided into two camps: those who believed Izaya was filling the role of damsel in distress (and hence, sexy intrepid love interest to their superhero), and those who believed him to be the mastermind behind all of the gang encounters ~~Shizu-Man~~  Heiwajima-san was facing. Arranging conflicts in the name of evil flirtation was not a foreign concept, after all. It was notable that this rather severe dichotomy did nothing to dampen the crowd’s affections either.

Namie was reflecting on neither of these facts, as she was busy being asleep. That was a short-lived luxury. The projectile chocolates that ricocheted off her head were simply incorporated into her dream, but the obnoxious voice was harder to account for.

“Yagiri.” This time it was just loud enough to snap her out of sleep.

Namie snorted awake, glanced at the clock on her bedstand (3:12am, it displayed cheerfully) and promptly launched said clock at Izaya’s head. Izaya gave a slight, disdainful tilt to his neck and allowed the clock to sail right past where he was perched on her desk, armed with a candy dish.

“Orihara, you have half a minute to explain what the fuck you are doing in my room before I gut you, pickle your corpse, and let the interns review anatomy on your pruned remains.”

“Colorful threat choice. I am here for your most esteemed opinion and to give you a new project.”

Namie groaned, hid her head under a pillow, and counted backwards from ten. Due to the fact it was _three in the morning_  she got mired around ‘7’ and became even more frustrated. “What part of ‘I don’t give a shit, stop bothering me’ don’t you understand?”

Izaya hummed and popped one of the chocolates in his mouth. “The ‘stop bothering me’ part, so here we are.”

Namie finally admitted defeat and sat up. A good portion of her hair was sticking to some drool at the corner of her mouth. She experienced a brief spike of concern when Izaya didn’t mock this at all.

“I think I am going insane,” he stated simply once he had her full- albeit muzzy -attention. The statement was complemented nicely by his exhausted features being put into artistic relief by the sprawling moonshadows, his eyes glowing manically in their shadowed sockets. He popped another chocolate in his mouth.

Namie had a brief battle with her hair (her hand was very nearly made a casualty) before returning her attention to her ‘quirky’ employer. “Creeping into my room in the middle of the night and stress eating all of my chocolate certainly isn’t helping your case.”

He fixed her with a flat look. Oh, that just figured. He broke into her house, woke her up, and then expected her to prompt his problems out of him. As it was the quickest route to getting back to sleep, she conceded, but made a personal note to put a hit on him in the morning.

“Why do you think you are going insane.” The statement was too flat to be called a question. She ran a hand over her face while waiting for his answer.

“I think I legitimately care about Shizu-chan.”

Namie managed to tear her bedsheet with her bare hands. Would you look at that.

“ _Why are we still having this conversation_ , you emotionally constipated  _idiot_? YES, you care about Heiwajima. You also have a perpetual boner for him. He has been gift wrapped for you and is currently returning your affections. _You are effectively sharing the same living space_. ERGO, it is safe to say you care about him and have the least room of _any human being alive_  to complain. Get the fuck out of my room.”

Izaya did nothing but grin at her enigmatically.

Namie sighed and worked valiantly on suppressing her homicidal urges. She had been forced into close proximity with this aggravating man for far too long to be fooled by that supercilious expression. He generally only threw that one on when he wanted others to feel uncomfortable, thereby diverting attention from the fact he himself was uncomfortable. _No dice, asshole_. The question here was why she even gave a fuck about his discomfort. It pushed her to an immediate decision: she would help, but tomorrow morning, very shortly after she ordered the hit on him, she would schedule to have the emotional centers in her brain surgically ablated. She couldn’t fathom why she had even waited this long.

“Why the hell are you acting like such a pussy?” If she had to play emotional therapist, she was going to handle it as she did every other interaction with Izaya: abrasively.

Predictably, the barb did nothing but widen his grin. “One of us has to have feminine wiles.”

The silence stretched until she was fairly certain the heat of her glare was starting to make his skin smolder. He shrugged with a sort of careless ease that belied his tension. “Did you know I spent ten minutes today worrying if Shizu-chan thought my shirt was too tight?”

She stared at him blankly.

“I spent another twenty wondering what sort of kisser he was.”

She stared at him blankly.

Izaya sighed and rolled his eyes. “I am suffering the stereotypes of a meddlesome supernatural force,” he said slowly, as if he was spelling out something coherent.

She stared at him blankly.

Izaya conceded with a humorless chuckle. “Oh Namie-san, you really aren’t at your brightest at this hour. Forget it. All you need to do is research how to reverse a thrall spell.”

She bypassed asking what the hell that even was in the interest of asking, “You can’t do this yourself why?”

He gave her another pitying look, as if this entire situation should be causing her deep personal embarrassment. “Because I am busy coding sub-routines into the network of the multi-national corporation I have hacked into.”

“I don’t even- I didn’t hear that. Fine, whatever. Thralls. You had to tell me this at three in the morning why?”

“I am sleep deprived!” He responded cheerfully. “I’ve lost any semblance of the scant social decorum I usually keep!” He grinned hugely. Namie envisioned shooting him in the face and felt moderately better.

 “Okay great, whatever. Just _get out of my room_. And reading between the lines here, because nothing you are saying right now is making any sort of sense, stop freaking out about the legitimacy of your feelings for the blond idiot.”

Izaya opened his stupid mouth, clearly intent on making a snide comment to derail her. Well fuck that, he wasn’t the only one who lost tact with a lack of sleep. Her next statement trampled his budding retort with the vigor of a disgruntled bison. “I don’t give a flying fuck what you claim, you were Shizuo-centic before this ridiculousness went down, which makes me think even if there is magical interference, it was only amplifying something that was already there, not fabricating it entirely.”

He regarded her quietly for a moment before under-handing a chocolate to her. Oh, what the hell, she deserved it. She popped it in her mouth.

“It was a pleasure hearing your thoughtful and tender input. And I must say, drooling slightly is a stunning look for you, Namie-san.”

She threw another pillow at him. “Get the fuck out of my room. You do this again and I am calling the cops.”

“Your friendship is sacred to me!” he sing-songed, darting out the door.

Namie slumped back into her remaining pillows, sighing dramatically. Normal people did not find emotionally-needy-nocturnal-bedroom-creepers exasperatingly endearing. She was going soft.

* * *

As Shizuo’s fist connected with the face of the last standing thug in the area, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He dug around for a moment, extricating it right as the thug’s trajectory was halted by crashing into a building a few blocks down.

_[There’s another disturbance down on Otome if you have the time~~~. Looks like Sumioshi-kai funded thugs this time, so be careful, they may have firearms d(*⌒▽⌒*)b]_

Shizuo let out a small snort of laughter. [Your enthusiasm is creepy and inappropriate. But I have time]

It was astounding Shizuo had so much working knowledge of various yakuza families now, simply through the benefit of Izaya’s network of information and the face-to-face experience of beating up all of the soldiers who had decided to have a turf war in ‘bukuro. Not all of the thugs Izaya alerted him to were yakuza, but the yakuza scum were certainly the most weapon-laden, and the most interested in actually _fighting_  Shizuo (locals had a penchant for fleeing while emitting emasculating screams).

_[I am only trying to show interest in Shizu-chan’s hobbies. Stay safe, cuddle-cakes]_

[Of course, mookie-pie]

_[What is a mookie? It sounds like a completely unsuitable substance to make a pie out of]_

[Die in a fire]

_[More and more likely! Ｏ(≧∇≦)Ｏ]_

Shizuo couldn’t hold back a small burst of laughter before snapping shut his phone (down the street, an incapacitated thug whimpered at the sound and attempted to roll into the safety of a storm drain). Even if it was said in an over-the-top, patronizing manner, it was nice having someone show concern over his safety. Shizuo was becoming so accustomed to the perks of this bogus relationship that he was kind of getting depressed over the prospect of it ending.

The fact they were still using ridiculous pet names without the benefit of a public audience didn’t even register.

Shizuo pushed his way through the small dance number going on to make his way over to the next section of street. Honestly, Izaya had opened a horrible can of ambiguously-talented worms with that particular plan. They had been trying to quell the rogue musicals for over a week now, but people _j_ _ust kept showing up to sing_. Freeing himself from the capering idiots, Shizuo was greeted with the excited exclamations of a small army of yakuza at the other end of Otome Road. As he slipped comfortably back into the simple muscle memory of _beating the shit out of them_ , he took in the desecrated surroundings.

Ikebukuro could never be accused of being a boring city, but the metamorphosis her streets had gone through was baffling even for seasoned inhabitants. The entire vibe of the city had sunk into the terrifying inconsistency of a fever dream: Disney-esque dance numbers were matted against the backdrop of knifings, love letters the size of office buildings were tagged with clearly worded death threats, and the new news station dedicated solely to Izaya and Shizuo’s antics was frequently interrupted by public safety announcements about roving gangs, previously unheard of fire fights, and an ever growing list of missing persons. The scale of the event was most terrifying: the diseased insanity of Ikebukuro was metastasizing to the surrounding neighborhoods with reports of vandalization of Mejiro’s posh houses and the elderly being attacked in the middle of Sugamo’s cordial streets.

Shizuo’s first day of really _looking_  at what was going on in Ikebukuro had filled him with equal parts rage and suspicion. It looked remarkably similar to the shit Izaya had orchestrated against him in high school, only on a much grander, better funded, and bafflingly well-armed scale. As if the déjà vu of being mob-swarmed wasn’t bad enough, he had been made horribly and acutely aware of the fact that the singing and dance numbers didn’t stop just because people were bleeding several feet away from the performance. It was one of the greatest tragedies of the situation that no one ever seemed to knife the damn singing telegrams (honestly, who willing did that sort of shit?).

After just that first day of cracking skulls and snapping guns in half, Shizuo had been utterly convinced he would return home to find Izaya gloating about another successful set up against the “mindless monster”.

Shizuo had instead been completely ignored as he opened his apartment to find the Flea perched amid a nest of wires, typing one handedly on two different computers while he spoke on a cell phone and skimmed a giant pile of notes entirely in English. That level of multitasking had made Shizuo’s head hurt by just looking at it. He had instead done an about-face, quietly closed the door behind him, and went back out to punch a few more people.

Annoyingly, Izaya seemingly taking over his apartment wasn’t the only fact Shizuo had started getting used to. With the benefit of his building tolerance towards the Flea, Shizuo had actually been able to recognize several interesting points about his previously-two-dimensional rival: the first was that as long as Izaya wasn’t feeling threatened, he really didn’t seem to have any personal agenda to get Shizuo killed. If anything, the Flea seemed fascinated during the rare moments he was able to observe Shizuo fully unleashing his strength. As it happened, the one day Shizuo was aware Izaya was watching him fight, he may have… embellished his usual technique. Tom seemed utterly confused by the sudden spike in finesse. Vorona had stated, “It is grand production, as the brawny bull moose bellows euphonious for the affections of the lady moose. Then explicably falls to the adverse demise of crashing through a frozen lake.” Whatever the hell that meant. Regardless, it got Shizuo questioning if Izaya’s antics in high school truly were malicious, or if they really _were_  simply the curiosity of a uniquely socially-awkward boy.

Izaya’s actions had seemed to be similarly impartial towards Ikebukuro; he wasn’t dedicated to watching it burn, per se, he simply enjoyed watching the city flex its muscles. Now that the city seemed to be in over its head, Izaya was actually gunning to re-establish the normal balance of order and chaos.

Shizuo, who was wholly unused to character study of any sort, had found these enlightenments unnerving and dealt with the mess of feelings it gave him by channeling everything into his usual failsafe response: punching things. The fact that this route of action seemed to make Izaya flushed and breathless whenever he could watch had absolutely no bearing on why Shizuo was using fighting as his outlet. Very little relevance anyway. Seventy percent relevance at most.

Thus, as the days had bled together, Shizuo had continued to punch his way through Ikebukuro’s chaos, and Izaya had continued to do whatever the hell it was he did (which appeared to be one part code monkeying, two parts burying himself in research, a side of information gathering for Shizuo’s vigilantism, a sprinkling of his regular intelligence distribution, and a liberal dash of _hosting potlucks for the local goddamn yakuza._ At least the Shiki guy was shockingly decent). At some point, Shizuo had to give up and assume the Flea was actually telling the truth for once, and the end goal really was to just get some order back in the city.

Shizuo snapped out of his musings to find he had reflexively cleared the street. He bent down to collect the unconscious forms at his feet before bundling them up with a street sign like a particularly unsightly and bleeding bunch of asparagus. Similar clumps of thugs lined the entire street, to varying degrees of groaning. Generally, the police would come by and collect them after Shizuo left, though who knew what the hell they did with them. Shizuo was pretty convinced the number of people he had knocked out in the last few days was climbing into the high hundreds now.

Concluding his work was done for the morning, Shizuo strolled up to a small coffee stand, nonchalantly knocked out the thug who was currently holding up the barista, and ordered himself a hot chocolate.

“On the h- house, Heiwajima-san,” the girl stuttered before blushing and proffering the mug with an embarrassed bow. Honestly, this whole “being a savoir of the people” thing was pretty awesome.

“Hey, thanks,” Shizuo muttered distractedly, taking a sip from the mug before making his way towards where he was meeting up with the other debt collectors. The cocoa was good. Maybe not as good as Izaya’s, but still warm and sweet enough to ward off the chill in the air.

Shizuo was pulled from his musings with the sound of an echoing whinny. He looked up just in time to shoot off a grin and a small wave before Celty rocketed past, clearly on some sort of errand. He had certainly been seeing a lot of her over the last few days, though she always seemed to be shooting by with a mission. Shizuo took a long drag from the hot cocoa and contemplating giving her a call later to see if it was anything he could help with. For the time being though, he was in danger of being late for his meeting with Tom and Vorona. Sighing and cracking his neck, he set off down the street with-

Hold up.

That person he just passed had hauntingly familiar, glowing red eyes.

Shizuo spun, and found three of the slashers staring back at him like startled deer. Gritting his teeth, he gingerly set down his cocoa on a window ledge and cracked his knuckles. “All sorts of scum are popping up toda-“ he began to growl, before all three shot off down an alley in the opposite direction. Shizuo blinked in confusion for a moment before taking off after them. “HEY! GET BACK HERE!” Skidding down the alley he saw them disappear into, he scanned the surrounding side streets, haunting in their silence.

“…The hell?”

At that point, Shizuo made an executive decision and texted Tom that he would be a bit late to the rendezvous point he had ferreted the other debt collectors in while he secured the area. He needed to chat with Izaya over the fact they were apparently contending with slashers in addition to hitmen, roving gangs, invading yakuza, and serial performing artists. He honestly had no clue the level of Izaya’s involvement in the original slasher attacks, so he would rather have this conversation in person to gauge the Flea’s response.

Shizuo reached his apartment with a small rush of relief, and stepped inside only to stop short and stare.

Shizuo realized he had never actually seen Izaya look tired. Come to think of it, he had never really considered that the Flea slept at all. The man was always out skipping a merry little path of mayhem at all hours of the night, and then operated his whisper-mongering throughout the day. Shizuo had just sort of taken it in stride that Izaya was everywhere, knew everything, and never slept. Like personified evil. Or Santa.

Due to this apparent misconception, it was a bit of a blow to the gut, seeing Izaya slumped over the table and staring blearily at the screen of his netbook. He looked _awful_. His hair was all shooting upwards in a faux fauxhawk, his ridiculous clothes were wrinkled to the point of absurdity, and the smudges under his eyes made him look like some sort of emo rockstar. It took Shizuo a moment to notice that the faint shadow along his jaw was actually _stubble_. Shizuo brutally squashed the absurd urge to run his fingers over Izaya’s cheek, and settled for watching as his rival hunker miserably at his breakfast room table.

“…Flea? It’s ten in the morning. Why do you look like you haven’t seen a pillow in the last four days?”

Izaya blinked back into focus and grinned up at Shizuo with the sort of manic intensity that was only achievable by a drunk-level of sleep deprivation. “Because I haven’t seen a pillow in the last four days,” He sing-songed in reply. He then promptly burst into a fit of giggles for no apparent reason. Shizuo eyed him warily.

“Oh, stop with the disapproving mother look, Shizu-chan, I’m fine. Peachy-deachy. Running at one-hundred and twenty two percent. This network is just a mess, and if I want to make any sense of it before the access codes shift again, I have at least twenty more hours of work ahead of me in the next day. And that is just for the encrypted information! There was a hairy spot there about forty hours ago where I started hallucinating, but I’m pretty certain-”

Shizuo easily tuned out Izaya’s rambling and frowned thoughtfully to himself. He wasn’t going to come out and say that he was shocked Izaya actually _had any sort of coherent deadline_  but…

Izaya glanced up and caught his expression. “Oh Shizu-chan, that is just _insulting_. Information brokers do a hell of a lot more digging than just alleyway whispers. How do you-” Izaya paused, and appeared to truly focus for the first time since Shizuo had walked in. “You are bleeding.”

Were their personalities reversed, Shizuo likely would have had some biting comeback about stating the obvious, but verbal barbs had been -and always would be- Izaya’s specialty. As it stood, he simply shrugged. This seemed to enrage the Flea for some reason, causing the man to stumble to his feet and scowl darkly at Shizuo. Shizuo simply _could not_  feel threatened by his scrawny rival in his current state.

Even disregarding the zombie-ish level of exhaustion, Izaya had for some reason abandoned his usual form-fitting shirts and had taken to wearing sundry cardigans and sweaters with the sort of reckless abandon he usually reserved for instigating city-wide destruction. Shizuo supposed he should be thankful the Flea was finding constructive outlets for his energy. Shizuo just wished it didn’t involve cashmere and argyle patterns. The conflict of wanting to snuggle that soft material and burn every last thread of that particular fashion trend was putting undue stress on the blond. The logical compromise would be to strip Izaya naked, thereby allowing Shizuo to feel the fabric _and_  be free of the associated eye rape. Retrospection would then show why Shizuo couldn’t dedicate much energy to logic; his logic had a disturbing propensity for concluding the vast majority of the world’s woes could be solved by Izaya being naked.

“Are you even listening to me?” Izaya groused.

“No,” Shizuo answered honestly before batting away the finger Izaya was probing into one of his cuts. “Stop that.”

Izaya was frowning deeply. “I used to be the only one able to mark you. It feels weirdly like you are cheating on me.”

“In that I am now fighting other psychopaths trying to destroy ‘bukuro? I suppose that is true.”

The frown turned into a pout. “So cruel. I never tried to destroy Ikebukuro, I only tried to destroy _you_. Anyway, I’d best be calling Shinra, hm?”

Shizuo rolled his eyes and swatted away Izaya’s hands once more, which resulted in a small bout of hand-smacking between them that wouldn’t have been out of place with two squabbling toddlers.

“Will you _stop it_?” Shizuo finally growled, shoving Izaya back into his chair. “They are _scratches_ , Flea. I think I’ll be okay. There are more important things to fight over.”

Despite his obvious exhaustion, that got Izaya to perk up. “Oh? Shizu-chan is acting as one of my lesser informant cronies now?”

Shizuo didn’t even bother gracing that with a response. “I saw Slashers in the street this morning.” He was stupidly pleased to see Izaya’s genuine surprise at this news. Izaya was generally a superb actor, but in his current state he probably couldn’t lie his way into free birthday cake at the local diner. Shizuo was just… he was relieved that Izaya hadn’t orchestrated this extra dose of chaos on the side. It was stupid to view this as personal growth on the Flea’s part, but in nonetheless pleased Shizuo.

“Huh. That…huh. That doesn’t fit at all.” Izaya frowned down at the table surface, and his thoughtful pout was so cute that it was giving Shizuo _feelings_. The blond blinked rapidly, attempting to clear that sentiment from his system before it got him into trouble. “I’ll send out some feelers, but that really doesn’t… damnit, I don’t have time for another variable.” He glanced up, eyes wide with a sudden thought. “Those cuts aren’t from the _Slashers_ , are they? Because-“

“No,” Shizuo responded over the top of him, sensing the potential for a flood of panicked rambling. “These were from one of the earlier gangs. And I’m pretty sure those glowing-eye bastards can’t affect me anyway.” Izaya opened his mouth, clearly roused by this little nugget of information, but Shizuo was satisfied with events for the time being and so spoke over the top of him once more. “It was just something I thought you should know. I doubt we have to do anything about it immediately. Go back to your codes and shit. You want some caffeine before I go?”

Izaya blinked up at him and apparently decided to let his line of questioning go. That, or he had forgotten what they were talking about. “You are my very own Prince Charming.”

That was probably meant to come out playful or mocking, but it fell flat on its face right into sincerity. Shizuo coughed in embarrassment and shuffled over to the coffeemaker to avoid having to respond. A quick explanatory text to Tom bought him an extra hour to make sure Izaya was actually revivable with caffeine. Since he was in the kitchen anyway and he hadn’t had breakfast due to the early morning fights, Shizuo decided to scrape together a meal as well.

It wasn’t twenty minutes before he had some semblance of a breakfast cooked up. If he accidently ended up making a bit extra, that was exactly what it was. An accident. Still, he wouldn’t let the food just go to waste, so he ended up preparing a second tray. Grabbing a book to read while he ate, he balanced the trays with an awkward contortion of his arm and shuffled his way back to the table.

He nearly dropped his burden when he came back into the breakfast room. Izaya had apparently lost the battle with his eyelids, and sat slumped against the table, cheek cushioned on his arm and long dark lashes silhouetted against his pale skin.

In ten years, Shizuo had never seen Izaya asleep.

He was _precious_.

The thought came so far out of left field that Shizuo dropped the trays he had been balancing so precariously. The ensuing clatter erupted through the apartment, and in half a blink Izaya was up, chair toppled, back against the wall and blade raised defensively.

The silence was an awkward one as they both settled on staring unseeingly at the breakfast splattered across the floor.

“What,” Izaya asked flatly at last.

Shizuo finally settled on bypassing the situation entirely. “Stop being an idiot. Go lie down. I’ll wake you in an hour or two. You aren’t getting any work done this way.”

“What,” Izaya said again, and Shizuo looked up to find the other man staring back at him owlishly. His hair was still everywhere, his shirt was slipping off of one shoulder, and god, his cheek was red from where it had been mashed against his arm. If Shizuo had any self preservation whatsoever, he would not find this nearly so adorable as he did.

Instead of focusing on it further, Shizuo picked his way through the mess of breakfast, lowered Izaya’s knife for him, and steered the smaller man towards the bedroom. Yes, the couch would have worked, but Shizuo was maybe slightly distracted by... things. And beds were where people slept so… that’s where he shoved Izaya.

He was honestly expecting more of a struggle, but it only took one gentle shove to cause Izaya to topple onto the bed, bury his face in Shizuo’s pillow, and promptly pass out.

Shizuo stood there for several moments, just staring down at Izaya’s quiet form. Nothing about this made sense. Shizuo sort of wished he drank, because the flurry of emotion he was feeling definitely merited getting drunk. Standing there like a creeper, watching someone sleep also merited getting drunk. _Stupid stupid STUPID_  his inner thoughts chanted as he reached out to brush back Izaya’s bangs. His hand stalled centimeters from the Flea’s face before pulling back slowly. Meeting his impulses halfway, Shizuo tugged the blanket up over his rival’s shoulders before fleeing the room, the terror of just how happy it made him hot on his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit shorter in the interest of not leaving you guys with an extra obnoxious cliff hanger (believe me, it would be _obnoxious_ ) while I try to recover parts of chapter 7 from my smoldering hard drive and/or rewrite the section while sobbing angry into a chocolate bar. 
> 
> It is mostly uncharted territory (even for my veteran readers) from here on out lovelies :)
> 
> Also, for those astute readers wondering what Shizuo made in his horribly equipped kitchen, the answer is two of the instant ramen packages, and some slightly burnt eggs (which Izaya had purchased earlier in the day). Poor Izaya. His exhaustion prevented him from eating like a king.


	7. Date 6: Abduction Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are gained (orgasms), things are lost (people), and several individuals make some pretty notable judgment errors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit of a monstrosity, and is pretty centric on Shizuo and Izaya. I would have chopped it into more manageable pieces, but then you would have been left with an _entire chapter_ of serious content in the future, and that is just unacceptable. Also, for those who care, this is the chapter that earns the story its rating, so proceed with caution. Or read in an area where no one can see you blush. Hell, read it aloud in a small group discussion if that is your jam. All I’m trying to say is “thar be pr0nz”. 
> 
> Also, please note that Shizuo’s Russian in this is utterly atrocious.

If Shizuo kept interspersing his threats of bodily harm with distracted looks and quiet mutterings of Izaya’s name, Tom and Vorona were kind enough not to mention it. That, or they were so supremely weirded out that they were just pretending the anomaly wasn’t happening.

Generally, Shizuo enjoyed being out with the debt crew over the depressing solitude of his apartment, but at that moment he really wanted nothing more than to return home. It was odd to feel concern over someone else, but Shizuo couldn’t help reflecting on Izaya’s sunken eyes and rail-thin form. He really should have noticed how run-down the Flea was getting. It just figured that the asshole’s scheming would only catch up with him _after_ Shizuo was marginally invested in his well-being.

Shizuo glanced down at his watch for the twenty-seventh time (no one was counting. No one was- okay, everyone was counting) to see two hours had finally passed since he left the apartment. He briefly contemplated letting Izaya sleep longer, but it sounded like whatever project he was working on was pretty important. To his friends’ morbidly fascinated stares, Shizuo pulled out his phone and hit speed dial. After several rings, the phone caught. There was a sluggish drag of fabric over the receiver before a put-upon sigh hissed across the line.

“Mm?”

Tom was giving Shizuo an uncomfortable look. It was likely because Shizuo could feel a blush spreading all the way down to his _toes_ , but… his mind just couldn’t help but supply that Izaya was probably bleary and sleep tousled and nosing around disoriented in _Shizuo’s bed_ and… Ignoring both Tom and his body’s reaction, Shizuo cleared his throat before speaking. “Get up princess, it has been two hours.”

“Mm.” There were more sounds of rustling fabric, a few beeps as if Izaya was blindly jabbing at the buttons on his phone, and then a dial tone as he managed to hang up on Shizuo.

Shizuo slipped the phone back in his pocket and tried to smother his stupid grin in cigarette smoke.

“I state considerable perplexity at the seeming endearment of female royalty. It is said in a mode to disparage?” Vorona asked in confusion. Tom was making frantic, abortive gestures, but Shizuo was too amused to be overly bothered by the line of questioning.

“Yeah. It’s mocking,” he said, bumping her shoulder companionably before starting off down the street of their next debtor. It was to everyone’s benefit that he pretended not to hear her next question of “Is it not to be considered a contradictory action, to insult and to give service of waking the Flea Orihara Izaya up, as with friends?” No use in trying to give an answer even he didn’t really understand.

* * *

Namie was finding new and innovative ways to curse Izaya, which was an impressive statement considering how much time and effort she routinely dedicated to the practice. It was all fine and good for _him_ , being holed up in his little love nest doing fuck-only-knew, but Namie was left fielding calls and demands from their various (and quite frequently criminal) clients. She had even been denigrated to maid, she reflected with a wrinkled nose as she fought with the key to his apartment. She currently had a two foot tall stack of folders to add to the already-impressive collection on his desk, which had done nothing but calmly collect dust as they waited for his attention.

Namie’s exasperation had reached such an animalistic base that she was contemplating peeing on his mattress in a universal statement of ire.

The monstrous pile of notes crashed to the floor once she finally managed to get the door open. She was too stunned to mourn the amount of time she had wasted organizing them; in shell-shocked silence, she took in the destroyed bookshelves, the looted desk, and the slashed open couch. Numbly, she wandered into the room, appreciating how thoroughly the area had been ransacked.

“Yakuza?” She murmured to herself in the still silence. “Some sort of furious client? What the hell is this?”

It was clear whoever had broken in was looking for something, but that really didn’t narrow down the list of suspects considering Izaya was an _information broker_. His office was a veritable Cave of Wonders concerning useful information on the majority of the city’s population. If anything, the fact that someone had managed to break in at all was more telling. Izaya had a fair number of personally designed fail-safes to protect himself from this sort of murderous rampage.

Namie wandered over to Izaya desk, catching a glimpse of crisp, clean paper in the mangled corpse of his computer monitor. As she read the impersonal font, her hand began to shake. By the end of the note, she was choking back a furious sob.

Screeching in frustration, she wiped the remains of the computer off the desk with a sweep of her arms. She was deaf to the ensuing clatter, hearing nothing but her own furious panting. Nor did she notice the blood spiraling down her arms from where various shards of broken glass had lodged themselves in her skin. Tiny red drops dripped from her fingers into the plush carpet as she fought to remember where Izaya had hidden his handgun.

* * *

Shizuo found himself wandering back home a few scant hours after he had called Izaya. The fact that their hunting had been scarce due to all normal citizens essentially going into hiding had been Tom’s official reason for cutting the day short, but Shizuo was aware that there was a concurrent work-related benefit to acting out of his fucking mind. Tom was cutting his losses and it was difficult to feel the proper level of guilt when it meant Shizuo was getting back to the Flea sooner than anticipated.

Shizuo wasn’t certain what he was expecting upon reaching his apartment, but it certainly wasn’t the scene that greeted him. Izaya was up and freshly groomed, bopping around the kitchen to the ear-splitting sing-along children’s program on the television. There was something oddly refreshing about seeing him back in his natural state of “toddler who got into the meth stash”, Shizuo reflected as the informant pranced around the kitchen flamboyantly, twirling the whisk in his hand as he went. Izaya’s unabashed spins and twirls seemed to defy the sleep-zombie that had existed a few hours ago. That was about as far as Shizuo’s thought process got before he registered that Izaya was currently swimming in a frayed hoodie and a pair of boxers that brushed past his knees- two articles of only a handful of casual clothing Shizuo owned. Beyond this, the apartment smelled like Izaya had just gotten out of the shower. He smelled of _Shizuo’s_ shampoo. The synergy of these facts was causing some primal part of Shizuo to stir languidly and give a deep, pleased purr of possessiveness. Shizuo blinked and shook his head violently, vainly trying to dislodge the emotional sensation with a physical motion.

“What even-“ Shizuo asked and Izaya swung around, miraculously able to hear him over the shrill chorus of the music. “What happened to hours of coding, Flea?”

“Welcome home, Shizu-chan! I'm fairly disgusted that these words are coming out of my mouth, but: you were right. Ugh, I definitely vomited a little bit with that statement. It was an easy fix of coding, however, once I recovered from being completely incompetent. You are looking at a man who now holds the reins to Nebula’s intranet. In unrelated but equally exciting news,” Izaya transitioned, his grin wide and mischievous and _perfect_ , "I got another addition." Shizuo was so past acknowledging how fucked he was that he just noted the warm fondness building in his chest as an abstract footnote.

“What now?”

Izaya skipped a joyous path over to the small table that had been designated for their rapidly expanding condom shrine. Shizuo observed that sometime in the last few hours, Izaya had apparently made a balloon-animal condom dragon that glistened grotesquely with lube and guarded the entrance of the shrine. There were also several thimbles filled with cream, which were as lewd as they were confusing. Izaya ignored the ornaments in the interest of seizing a newly acquired building block and brandishing it proudly. “Random-citizen-on-the-street braved a group of drunk thugs to add to our collection. The elusive white raspberry flavor!”

Shizuo couldn’t help the amused snort that escaped him as he opened a drawer to pull out their game boards. Izaya placed the box reverently back on the shrine before skipping over to join him.

“I was wondering if we were ever going to get to the other flavors,” Shizuo stated absently, scanning his grid.

Izaya gave a triumphant crow. “Bingo!” He held up the board to proudly display his five square diagonal: ribbed, studded, extra length, fitted, white raspberry. Shizuo gave a defeated sigh. Damn elusive heated gel condoms. If it weren’t for them, he would have won a week and a half ago. It was blatantly obvious Izaya had cheated and penciled in the new flavor, but calling him out on it would feel a bit like reprimanding a child for cheating at monopoly.

“What was the prize again? Loser makes dinner?”

Izaya hummed in agreement. “Certainly, but seeing as I’ve already started and I value my taste buds, I will settle for making you my kitchen bitch.”

“Kitchen bi-“ Shizuo began to snarl before he was silenced with a spoon being stuck in his mouth.

“Meringue for dessert. Too much sugar?”

Shizuo licked placidly at the white fluff on the spoon. “Nah, it’s good.”

Izaya’s eyes darkened as he regarded Shizuo through his lashes. It was only three heavily silent breaths before the Flea snapped himself out of whatever he was thinking and silently flouncing back to the stove, but it was enough to leave Shizuo flustered and jittery. Looking for a distraction, he eyed the various pot-laden burners dubiously. There was a reason he subsisted on ramen. The counter was filled with carefully portioned spices, sliced meat, and several cans of open coconut milk that spoke of preparation for a pretty intricate recipe. More than two ingredients pushed Shizuo’s personal comfort zone. Instead of admitting to his culinary ineptitude however, Shizuo shuffled forward and grabbed a spoon to hold in front of himself awkwardly.

Izaya took one look and his grim determination and broke into a fit of laughter. “It’s dinner, Shizu-chan, not a gang war. Loosen up. Here,” he hip-checked Shizuo over to a large pot of soup before placing his hand over Shizuo’s and guiding the spoon into a stirring motion. “Very good!” he effused, and Shizuo couldn’t even build up an appropriate level of ire over that patronizing tone due to distraction from the pleasant tingles racing up his arm secondary to Izaya’s touch.

At this point, Shizuo was sickening _himself_ with his soppy, pining emotions. Well, no one ever claimed he dealt with stress in a mature fashion.

“What the hell Shizu-chan?!” Izaya sputtered, trying to scoop coconut milk off of his face as Shizuo stood poised with a now-empty can in his non-stirring hand.

“Oops. Slipped. Guess I need more practice at being a kitchen bitch.”

The Flea grinned through the streaks of white crawling down his face ( _okay, that lacked foresight. Not helping not helping not helping_ ) before slapping his sopping hands up into Shizuo’s hair.

Shizuo went ramrod straight at the sensation of his hair glomming together on his scalp before meeting Izaya’s challenging gaze.

The ensuing cooking process played out to what was, frankly, a predictable conclusion. Izaya got half of the raw chicken shoved down his hoodie, carefully sliced bell peppers tumbled through the air like a spray of ungraceful cherry blossoms, and Shizuo discovered one of the spices was curry powder by virtue of taking a shot of it directly to the eye. Shizuo wasn’t even remotely surprised that five minutes of sharing the kitchen resulted in a soup that was completely forgotten in the interest of hurling knives half blindly at Izaya (who, in a show of very poor manners for a houseguest, was sprinting across the counters).

Had the night finished with one of them bleeding profusely and slinking into an alleyway, it would have been nothing to write home about. The routine was only broken when a lucky swipe of Shizuo’s arm caught Izaya around the waist and dragged him off the counter.

As Izaya’s back hit Shizuo’s chest, an unspoken ceasefire broke over the apartment while a literal fire lit up the pot of chicken curry. Izaya landed on the balls of his feet and spun to find himself almost nose to nose with Shizuo, trapped against the counter. Whatever smart retort he was about to fire died on his lips as his eyes flicked up to meet Shizuo’s.

This wasn’t how these games went. There was a strict script to follow and right about now, Shizuo should have been punching mindlessly with “unfettered passion”. His attention caught on the dark circles still present under those bright eyes though, and something in their well-established machinations short-circuited.

“You still look like shit,” he stated quietly. _Are you okay?_ he wanted to say. _It is killing me that I can see cracks in that pristine veneer of assholishness you maintain_.

Words had never been Shizuo’s strong suit though, so he let the weakly barbed statement linger in the air as his thumb absently brushed that lightly bruised skin. He felt Izaya swallow where his palm cupped the angle of the Flea’s jaw.

“You can’t even follow a simple set of rules can you, idiot?” Izaya whispered without heat.

Shizuo let out a breath that sounded a lot like the slip of gravel before a landslide. In an unadulterated moment of self indulgence, he pressed forward and gathered the Flea up in a desperate hug. _I’ve been stupidly worried about you_ , he didn’t say. _I’m glad, even in these stilted moments, you seem more like yourself_ was swallowed by the silence. God, it was like getting to hold a bolt of lightning. He felt a different form of power course through him at the contact.

Izaya was rigid with shock for two quick breaths.

“Fuck it,” was the informant’s soft growl. It was the most aggressive sounding defeat Shizuo had ever heard. “Come on, you giant marshmallow,” his hand stretched up to clutch at Shizuo’s coconut-milk-sodden hair. Far from being irritated by the man-handling, Shizuo brushed the tip of his nose reverently against the exposed skin of Izaya’s neck and inhalant Izaya’s fresh, warm scent. “If we are going to do this, let’s get on with it. If we stall, we’re just going to get absurdly cockblocked again.”

Shizuo couldn’t help the half hysterical chuckle that escaped him and vibrated along Izaya’s skin. He grinned into the goose bumps he felt forming under his lips.  “I bet you say that to all the boys.”

Izaya let out a derisive snort and scratched his nails affectionately through the coconut milk on Shizuo’s scalp. Shizuo couldn’t suppress the tremor that ran through him in result. “Damn. You caught me,” Izaya responded, and Shizuo was entirely unsure if it was the gravely quality of the other man’s voice or the innocent brush of Izaya’s pants against his crotch that broke the last strings of hesitation. Shizuo was moved by such a sudden and profound affection that it almost didn’t register when his lips pressed wetly against Izaya’s neck.

In one mindless drag of his tongue, Shizuo had the smooth taste of his rival’s skin in his mouth. Jolting slightly, Izaya muttered something that sounded half a curse, half a prayer, and entirely wrecked. In a blur of movement, he was up and looping his legs around Shizuo’s waist. Shizuo’s hands reflexively slipped under Izaya’s thighs while he took a few stumbling steps backwards, bumping against the stove as Izaya lowered his head and met Shizuo’s lips in one searing, slick moment. Shizuo’s world went white.

Kissing Izaya was somehow even more electric than Shizuo had dared imagine. Shizuo’s heart was hammering in his chest and every hair seemed to stand on end as Izaya slanted his lips, catching Shizuo in a gentle bite before that wicked tongue was curling into Shizuo’s mouth and sending a jolt down his spine. On sheer instinct, his hips jolted upwards to grind against Izaya. He drank in the resulting moan the Flea let out that morphed to tremoring pulses across his tongue.

The entire thing was sexy beyond comprehension for all of about three seconds. The chicken curry then ruined the moment by burping out a flaming chunk of cauliflower that splattered against Izaya’s arm.

“Ow! Fuck!” Izaya lurched back out of Shizuo’s grasp and crashed to the floor in a sprawl of limbs. Shizuo, unbalanced by the loss of Izaya’s weight and still completely out of it from the kiss, windmilled backwards, eyes widening humorously, before he crashed to the floor and took half the contents of the counter with him.

Izaya watched on in horror as the soup tilted precariously, wobbled to the edge of the stove with a few molten splashes, and then and began to tumble in a flaming fountain of delicious, lethal chicken. In a mindless blur, Izaya surged forward, locked his legs around Shizuo, and reversed into an odd backwards somersault to send them both sprawling, inches out of reach of the boiling, partially constructed soup.

Shizuo spent a moment blinking at the ceiling in disoriented silence before glancing back to the area of the floor he had been moments earlier. “Shit. _Shit!_ The fucking linoleum’s on fire- shit! It’s burning through- Goddamnit Izaya, stop laughing and _help!_ ”

Izaya tried to breathe through his peals of laughter, but wayward chuckles and toxic smoke were apparently making that a bit difficult for him (god, Shizuo wanted to lick the very _sound_ of his laughter right out of his mouth). “Shit,” Izaya snickered, trying to shrug out of the hoodie amid a fall of raw chicken so he would have something to beat the flames with, “after all these years, we are going to kill each other in a domestic grease fire.”

Shizuo spent one unfathomable moment simply staring at him before doubling over in breathless laughter. The fire began to truly take off and churn out black smoke behind him. “Can you even imagine what the news would do with this?”

“I can see the headlines now: 'They died as they lived- fucking around until everything burst into flames.'”

“Hahahaha-OW!” While Shizuo’s body was used to all sorts of physical abuse, molten grease still stung like a bitch when splattered against his skin. Around his mirth, something in the back of his mind tickled about the combination of water and grease fires. It was probably a good idea to get the fire under control before the sprinklers activated.

Izaya, predictably, was three steps ahead of him, throwing a lid on the toppled pot, beating at the flames with the sweatshirt he had been wearing, and digging haphazardly through the cabinets.

“Baking soda?” he shouted nonsensically as Shizuo beat at the liquidating linoleum with an ineffective but determined tea towel.

“Under the condom shrine, next to the lube offerings.”

It was absolutely absurd that those were coherent directions, but in the next moment Izaya had found the box and was sacrificing it For The Greater Good in a frantic shower of white powder and curse words. Miraculously, the last of the flames snuffed out and the two were left standing in awkward silence as the ruined kitchen slowly burped out semi-benign smoke. The curry pot lay like a fallen revolutionary, both a spent catalyst and a giant “fuck you” to their ruined dinner. The silence was only broken by a decrepit groan as the sprinklers belatedly joined the party, dousing the kitchen in rank, rusty water that hadn’t seen the light of day since the 1920’s.

Shizuo, almost without thought, sent a fist through the sprinkler heads, crumpling the metal and efficiently stemming the fetid shower. When he glanced back to Izaya, the Flea was covered with soot and rust-grime, hair dripping into his eyes as dirty rivulets ran down his bare chest. Shizuo, for one breathless moment, found the stark beauty of an ink painting in the vision he presented. The thought was quickly dismissed as “overly poetic bullshit” and was banished to the back of his mind where no one would get to hear it _ever_.

“Okay,” Izaya said resolutely, oblivious to Shizuo’s inner art critic. “I am going to go-“ he indicated vaguely to his bare, filthy chest. Stepping lightly around the soiled and smoldering sweatshirt, he took three steps towards the bathroom and turned back to look at Shizuo. “Anyway, could you-?” he made another vague gesture in the direction of the noxious black smoke circling the kitchen. Shizuo seemed incapable of doing anything but stare at Izaya for several moments. It was utterly unfair that Izaya could somehow make “walking tetanus hazard” look sexy. After another moment, he snapped himself out of his daze and turned his gaze towards the ceiling.

“Hm? Uh, yeah, okay.”

He watched Izaya flee without another word. After several dazed moments of silence, he made his way over to the apartment windows and cracked them open to let in the frigid winter air. He observed tendrils of smoke snake out the opening an indeterminable amount of time before glancing back towards the bathroom.  
  
…Fuck it.

* * *

So. That happened.

Izaya didn’t know whether to be thankful that their disastrous flirtations had derailed so abruptly or to be _righteously irate_ that he had been systematically blue-balled for _weeks_. He gave an exasperated sigh while turning on a hot jet of water and shucking his sodden shorts. In all reality, they were likely just dealing with a mutual Stockholm syndrome after being crammed together for so long amidst the miasma of the city's obsession. And okay, maybe that little foray into foreplay was pretty okay. And by pretty okay, he meant fucking fantastic because there was still a pleasant clenching in his stomach and an electrical skitter across his skin at the memory of Shizuo’s mouth.

  _Really,_ he reasoned, _there’s not any pressing reason why we shouldn’t just fuck and get it over with. We are both consenting adults, working off some tension. And maybe I don’t detest being around him quite so much as I once did. There is also the slight possibility I find him devastatingly attractive. It is simple objective truth that his stupid little quirks are utterly adorable. He is certainly more interesting than I ever gave him credit for. And I wouldn’t mind seeing his face as I wreck him. His expressions, his eyes. Would his eyes squeeze shut as he comes? Would he be silent or shout my name?_

Izaya’s head thunked gently against the wall of the shower. The spray sluiced over his skin, sliding along his neck like the ghost of Shizuo’s lips. It was illogically arousing. His head thunked against the wall a second time. People were always stating how intelligent Izaya was, so he had absolutely no trouble deducing he was well and truly screwed in all but the most gratifying sense.

Izaya was more than half hard with his thoughts by the time the steam suddenly billowed out the open shower door, and Shizuo was just _there_ , a soft questioning look at complete odds with the message the rest of his body was trying to send. Izaya’s eyes dragged along the flush creeping up Shizuo’s neck, the stretch of the tight, no-longer-white shirt that clung to the planes of his muscles with rusty water, and the tantalizing strain of his dark trousers. A lesser person would have been self-conscious at the slow, heavy crawl of Shizuo’s gaze up and down his naked form, but Izaya felt only the burning veneration of the gaze. He swallowed dryly, unconsciously angling his body to better display his glistening skin for that appreciative stare. A primal part of him wanted to say that he thought the kitchen was just a joke. Wanted to say “not in a million years.”

That’s not what he wanted to say at all.

“Come here,” was the whisper that came out instead, and while he was pretty sure the words had been lost in the steam of the shower, Shizuo was surging forward anyway, clumsily crowding him back against the slick tiles of the far wall. With a reverent, half formed whisper, Shizuo’s hands were slipping along the wet muscles of Izaya’s upper arms, fingers skimming the sensitive skin in a trembling staccato. The water hammered at Shizuo’s stupid shirt and if Izaya’s circulation had been properly perfusing his brain, he would have had a snide comment for Shizuo bumbling into the shower completely clothed. In his current state however, his biting wit was more along the lines of “nggggh _ohmygod_ ” while Shizuo’s fingers slipped with the beads of water down the lines of his bare chest. Those large hands fixed on Izaya’s hips, almost encircling his waist as he was dragged forward against the firm heat of Shizuo’s trousers.

Once more, Izaya found he didn’t know the steps to this dance. What happened in the kitchen had been flirty spontaneity. This was a different creature entirely. Eye to eye, he couldn’t make excuses for what they were about to do. _Who_ he was about to do. A sort of absurd anxiety lodged in his throat. How did they-?

Shizuo dropped to his knees in one smooth movement. _Oh, what, how the hell_ -

In the rare times where Izaya had allowed himself to visualize this happening, he had always been the one looking up through his lashes, sultry and devastating as Shizuo’s thighs trembled beneath his hands. He couldn’t find it in himself to complain at the role reversal however, considering he was only able to tear his eyes away from _how ridiculously beautiful Shizuo was with his bangs in wet tendrils_ when Shizuo nuzzled against his crotch and Izaya’s eyes reflexively rolled back in his head.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Shizuo rumbled in a harsh baritone that made Izaya’s dick give an appreciative twitch right before Shizuo gave an experimental lick to its eager head. Izaya couldn’t even feel shame over the broken little whimper that escaped him. His mind went completely blank the next moment with Shizuo’s tongue curling around his shaft.

“Shit,” Izaya croaked, knotting a hand in Shizuo’s hair and clawing at his scalp. Shizuo gave an appreciative groan, looking up through his dripping lashes as his warm mouth fixed over the end of Izaya’s dick in a small, sensual swallow.

Izaya stumbled a half step backwards, back hitting the tile of the shower once more as his hips flexed up into Shizuo’s eager mouth. The blond’s hands pressed feather-light into his hip bones, holding Izaya’s thrusts down as he carefully swallowed down more of Izaya’s length. Izaya choked back another curse, feeling fire light through his circulation and his heart hammer desperately in his chest. The velvet drag of Shizuo’s tongue, the warm wet ring of his lips, the flutter of his throat- it was so much more than just a quick, needy hand. It was… deliriously, Izaya’s eyes cracked open, watching his cock slide in and out of Shizuo’s stretched open mouth in short, rapid snaps. A warm dribble of precum leaked from his tip, coating Shizuo’s tongue.

That, apparently, destroyed his verbal filter.

“You look perfect, just like that. The things I want to do to you Shizu-chan, the ways I want to _take you apart_ -“ he yanked Shizuo’s head back by the hair, watched his cock slide out of Shizuo’s mouth to rub gently against his cheek in a leaking smear of saliva and precum, watched Shizuo’s heavy, hungry gaze.  “I want to see you,” Izaya demanded in a dark and broken whisper.

Shizuo stared at him in dazed silence for a moment before reaching a hand down and unzipping his fly. His cock, rigid and flushed, jumped free to glisten beautifully against the matte of his dark trousers. Before Izaya could spend any more time staring at it worshipfully, Shizuo was lunging forward, swallowing Izaya down in one smooth movement that left his nose nestled in the coarse hair of Izaya’s crotch.

Izaya gave a startled shout, back hunching over Shizuo’s head as the blond repeatedly swallowed. One of those large hands slipped behind him, coarsely and blindly thrusting two clumsy fingers up into him, and Izaya momentarily completely lost his sight.

He was dimly aware that he was spouting nothing but a filthy litany of curses and exclamations, but after Shizuo figured out what he was doing, he went about sucking cock with a religious vigor that left Izaya’s toes clawing at the damp tile and his words hopelessly cascading in a manner that didn't have a prayer of being dammed. One hand still clenched in Shizuo's hair, Izaya reached his other hand down in wonder, fixing lightly around Shizuo’s neck to feel his own cock slipping in and out of Shizuo’s throat. He alternated between thrusting needily into that welcome mouth and grinding back against Shizuo's curled fingers. It was obscene. It was perfect.

Izaya's gaze flicked back up to Shizuo's face, drinking in the pornographic devotion painted across his features. Izaya's eyes locked with Shizuo's as a hasty thrust caused the blond's eyes to water and, oh god, just seeing that look- knowing he was the cause for it- a third finger slipped into him and it was that concurrent edge of pain that completely ruined him.  “Shit, Shizu-, Shizu-chan, I’m gonna-“

He yanked the blond back just in time to come in thick, pulsing streams over his face. Shizuo’s name was a reverential sob on his lips as his entire body clenched around the spurts. Shizuo’s tongue darted out to test one of the thick white rivulets catching at the corner of his mouth and Izaya spit out another curse, eyes clenching shut as his cock jumped with an almost painful dribble of semen. His world seemed to telescope down until the only thing Izaya was aware of was the exquisite shudders wracking his body.

For several moments, it was silent spare for the spray of the shower and Izaya’s broken panting. His entire body was trembling with sensory overload as Shizuo's fingers scissored gently inside him, massaging him through the aftershock. It was sheer pride that kept him from collapsing in a sprawl of limbs on the shower floor. Muscles becoming jelly and vision still swimming, Izaya slowly opened his eyes to fix gazes with Shizuo. Shizuo’s pupils were blown to the point that the brown of his irises were all but engulfed. The spray of the shower was sluicing cum down his cheeks in thick trails, catching in the tendrils of soaked hair that were plastered to his face. He was _breathtaking_. His swollen lips were open in silent little gasps and all that power and destruction sat in dazed complacency at Izaya’s feet. Izaya regarded the scene with a sort of drugged elation, eyes dragging down to Shizuo’s cock, ramrod straight and almost purple with strain.

He clenched his fingers gently in Shizuo’s hair once more, maintaining eye contact the entire time as his thumb traced an old knife scar on Shizuo’s jaw.

“Shizuo,” Izaya whispered, watching how the unmaimed name caused a shiver to run through his rival’s body. “Shizuo, I want you to come for me.” He leaned down, feeling the other man’s fingers slip out of him as he licked at a small trail of cum on Shizuo’s temple and brushed his lips against Shizuo’s ear. “Come for me.”

Shizuo’s hands came up to flutter helplessly at Izaya’s sides and, eyes manic, his entire body went rigid. Under Izaya's hedonistic gaze, he came untouched with a deep, broken groan and a pulsing spray of white across his shirt and trousers. Twitches seized his cock as his wrecked voice whispered Izaya’s name in a shaky gasp.

Izaya's gut seized at the sensation of the event- Shizuo, powerless and wrecked at his simple words, helpless and hapless at his command. A sort of unabated euphoria filled him, a sort of godhood, and before he could quite understand what was happening, a second orgasm was ripping through him, pulsing through his half-hard cock and filling his vision with nebulas of inverse stars to the chorus of _beautiful, beautiful, mine, **mine**_.

He was falling- slipping, tilting, collapsing, boneless, and through some questionable manipulation of physics somehow managed to be yanked into Shizuo's lap without concussing himself on the tile. He wasn't even fully re-oriented to his seated position on Shizuo's straining thighs when he felt Shizuo enter him in a slick desperate thrust that slid against his liquefied muscles like a hit of heroin through his veins. The uneven pounding rocked his body, screaming up his already exhausted nerves, filling him with the sensation of Shizuo's twitching cock frantically shooting warm liquid pulses into him. Izaya felt his lungs freezing in his chest as a final jolt shot through his body and  his cock gave one last shuddering dribble. In a nearly post-ictal haze, he melted silently into Shizuo's arms, head resting in the crook of his slick neck as the blond let out a deep groan and a final leak of warmth inside him.

They sat like that for uncountable minutes, the water of the shower turning cool as Shizuo tremored, face flush against Izaya's hair. Slowly, Izaya sat back, feeling Shizuo shift inside him and _god_ was that weird. With a breathless groan, Shizuo pulled out slowly. He gave an admiring, whispered expletive for the cum that leaked out of Izaya, pooling on the tile in a quiet, debauched testament of what they had just done. 

It was several more minutes of blank staring at the shower wall before Izaya was able to push himself out of Shizuo's lap, residual tremors skittering through his abdominals. Shizuo remained sitting, legs akimbo and chest still heaving, his sopping hair hiding his eyes. Izaya raised a hesitant, shaking hand and pushed the wet locks away from his face. Shizuo's wide eyes looked back at him, so very young and lost. His entire image was enticingly wanton.  His clothes were a disaster, soaking and stained with soup, rust, and long streaks of cum. His softening cock was the only exposed skin, looking slightly ridiculous. Izaya reached up and undid the first button of Shizuo’s ruined shirt before the blond’s hand snapped up to lock around his wrist. Izaya frowned in curiosity for a moment before his eyes fixed on the fine silvery webbing of scars exposed by that first button.

Oh. The fingers on Izaya’s uncaptured hand aligned lightly on the scar tissue, watching Shizuo flinch. _Fascinating,_ he thought with a small quirk of his lips, because “heartbreaking” wasn’t in his vocabulary or spectrum of emotions.

But how many ways could Shizuo be so delicious? As Izaya gazed at this simple man who was so very complex, he saw that each scar on Shizuo was probably a reminder of a wound that would have killed a normal person. Those scars, in their spidery scrawl, whispered _monster, monster_ in a language that only Shizuo understood, an insecurity so deeply rooted that it managed to permeate the blissful post-fuck fog they were both in. It was so unanticipatedly human. How had Izaya let this Gordian knot of insecurities avoid him for so long? A gross oversight.

"Stop it," Shizuo growled quietly, pushing him back with laughably feeble pressure. "I know that look. You don't get to examine me like a goddamn specimen. God, can't you just... how can that stupid brain of yours still be running full speed right now?" His voice was a hoarse whisper. 

Izaya leaned forward, bypassing that comment by licking a thin scar that curved along Shizuo’s collarbone. This small insight, this tiny nick in Shizuo’s armor, was enticing. Ever the scholar, Izaya wanted to see just how far he could unravel that ridiculous insecurity. Trailing kisses up his neck, Izaya pulled Shizuo’s earlobe into a sucking kiss as he undid the second button and prepared to exploit the sexual submissiveness he had just received a tantalizing taste of. Shizuo’s quiet, broken gasps were his musical score.

“Touch me,” Izaya encouraged in a wavering whisper, shifting focus away from the skin he was uncovering. Distract and redirect. Obligingly, those large hands ghosted once more to his hips. Izaya pulled back slightly, belatedly realizing he had stepped on another landmine and showing his disapproval with a small frown. It just figured that he would only be able to hit Shizuo’s buttons when he wasn’t actually trying to. “You of all people should know I don’t break so easily,” he scolded, reading the hesitant touch for the cowardice it was. He waited for Shizuo to meet his gaze. “You aren’t going to hurt me,” he stated as a matter of fact, authority ringing through his voice. He slipped the remaining buttons out of their holes and roughly pushed the sodden shirt off of Shizuo’s shoulders. Izaya’s fingers dug into the rigid, exposed muscle. “ _Touch me_.”

"And _you_ aren't going to die if you relax for five minutes and stop thinking so damn hard," Shizuo retorted before regarding him for a quiet, serious moment. While their eyes locked, he shook out of his shirt sleeves. _Very nice_ , Izaya thought, eyes skimming the expansive canvas of wet skin. “Tell me when to stop,” was his compromise after several moments. “Izaya. You have to tell me when to stop.”

Izaya met this with a lopsided smirk. “Assuming I’ll want you to, Shizu-chan.”

For perhaps the first time since the nickname had been used, Shizuo seemed to hear the ring of true endearment. He lunged forward in one fluid motion and Izaya toppled backwards in a shout of startled delight before Shizuo was swallowing the sound in a searing press of lips and tongue. Izaya shivered, half in anticipation and half with actual chill as the shower lost the last of its heat. Seeming to catch this, Shizuo lifted Izaya effortlessly with one arm while he stood, pawed off the water, and stripped off his trousers all in one economical -if awkward- maneuver. Izaya tried valiantly to hide the fact that being so easily toted about was doing _things_ to him. By the rumbling chuckle he felt rolling through Shizuo’s chest, he was guessing he failed.

Shizuo waddled them out of the bathroom in a sopping trail that would likely break someone’s neck in the morning. Apartment safety was the last thing on Izaya’s mind as Shizuo spilled him onto the bed, however. He couldn’t help but drink in the absolute beauty of Shizuo’s lean lines as the taller man crawled on hands and knees to tower over him. Now was around the time he should let loose a barbed comment to keep the tone light and playful, but his wit was still offline in the face of his desire to simply rub against that golden glow of skin and its lattice work of scars.

“Vy prosto velikolepna (you are simply gorgeous),” Shizuo whispered. Izaya tried so desperately to clamp down on the giggle bubbling up in his throat and failed miserably. Unfortunately, heartened by this response, Shizuo plowed forward, his grammar almost as bad as how grossly he mangled the words. “Ty dragotsenen menya (you have become precious to me).”

“Oh for the love of- stop Shizu-chan, stop! You are ruining the mood,” he squeaked out against helpless giggling.  

“Glaza i volosy chto krasoty (your eyes and hair are a thing of beauty),” the blond retorted with a building grin and theatrical gusto. It was somehow getting _more_ mangled as he went, only causing Izaya to laugh harder. The silver lining of this barely coherent verbal foreplay was the firm grip that pinned Izaya’s hands above his head. It served as an odd dichotomy to the terrible sappiness escaping Shizuo.

“Ty svodish menye s uma (you’re driving me crazy),” Izaya whispered, knowing the message was probably falling on deaf ears. "Let me lay it out clearly for you, idiot. I haven't been craving your gentle touches or your pristine skin or your stunning repertoire of Russian endearments." He strained up against the palm restraining his wrists and felt his breath stutter as Shizuo reflexively tightened his grip. A dark, challenging grin spilled across his face and was  mirrored back at him in Shizuo's swelling pupils. He arched up to rub their groins together, eliciting a heartfelt and muted _shit_ from Shizuo. "When have I ever commended you for your collection or your control? From day one, it has only ever been how you stand out that has monopolized my attention. How about you try going about this like everything else in your life: bluntly, disastrously, and somehow with a devastating competency you haven't really earned?"

Shizuo gave a low, mildly unhinged chuckle that sent a thrill through Izaya's blood. "Yeah, I hate it when I have to admit you're right, but..." he hoisted Izaya up in one smooth movement for a deep, probing kiss that left the shorter man's head spinning and forced him to swallow further snide comments with Shizuo's tongue. In the next moment, his entire world was spinning and the air was being driven from his lungs as his chest and stomach hit the bed. He felt Shizuo's fingers card through his hair before pressing his face to the pillows. "Eye for an eye, Izaya-kun. If you want me to let go, we need to turn off that overactive brain of yours as well, hm?"

Warm, firm muscle stretched out to blanket Izaya's prone back, overwhelming his previous chill while goosebumps bloomed across his skin for an entirely different reason. Shizuo, out of sight, gave a playful nip to the nape of his neck as he yanked Izaya’s hips into the air and aligned their pelvises. 

Izaya let loose a thrilled little titter as his constant buzz of thoughts went completely silent. In the absence of the persistent, nagging chatter, his world was filled solely with moans. 

* * *

“Please repeat your name for the record,” a stocky scientist requested into a microphone, watching his subject keenly through tinted plexiglass. 

The model stared back at him silently. The look wasn’t so much resentful as it was profoundly disinterested. The silence stretched until it was clear to the scientist that he was being thoroughly and actively ignored. Giving a frustrated sigh after several minutes, the scientist flicked the switch for the microphone again.    
  
“We simply need to make official documentation. The sooner you answer, the sooner we can both leave.”

There was another moment of silence before dark, serious eyes stared directly at him through the tinted glass. There was a lot of judgment in that gaze, but the man simply responded with a quiet, “Hanejima Yuuhei.”  
  
The scientist flipped off the switch to the microphone, pinched the bridge of his nose, and turned to his colleague. “They tell me he is intelligent. You think their manic obsession with this guy is clouding their judgment or is he being purposefully obtuse?”  
  
The other man rolled his eyes. “Just be thankful yours is coherent. I got stuck with the babbling old witch. Muramoto got stuck with a _horse._ How the fuck are you supposed to audio-document a _horse?_ ”

“This job was so much better when we just dissected people,” the first scientist muttered before turning the microphone back on. “Your _real_ name, Hanejima-san.”

There was the faintest hint of a frown around that perfectly crafted mouth. “Heiwajima Kasuka.”  
  
“Thank you, Heiwajima-san. Now please succinctly state your supernatural abilities.”  
  
“…What.”

* * *

Shizuo woke with a slow, languorous stretch and a warm feeling of contentment. There was a pleasant weightedness to his muscles (which was an altogether foreign sensation), as well as a sort of pervasive tranquility that in and of itself was nearly better than sex.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he cracked open a cautious eye, surveying the room. Afternoon light filtered through the far window, staining the furniture a warm orange and creeping up half of the comforter he was sprawled under. There was a warm weight on his right and Shizuo turned his head slightly to see Izaya curled against him, still deeply asleep with his face tucked against Shizuo's side. Something soft and precious stirred in Shizuo's chest, taking in that image. _That is the second time in as many days that I have seen him asleep_. However many doubts he harbored about the sincerity of Izaya's feelings, he couldn't deny this was physical proof that _something_ had changed between them. As far as Shizuo was aware, Izaya didn't sleep around anyone, too mired in (well founded) paranoia about someone getting the better of him while he was so vulnerable. Unbidden, Shizuo's hand lifted to Izaya's dark hair, pushing the shiny strands back and forth absently. Izaya murmured something half-coherently before tucking his face more firmly against Shizuo's side.

Moved by a sudden burst of emotion that didn't bear naming, Shizuo shifted onto his side and gathered Izaya up in a tight hug. The pleasant aroma of the other man's hair filled his senses and Shizuo's eyes slipped closed. He could acknowledge that this was likely a short term arrangement, but the sensation of having another person relaxed and pressed against him was so soothing Shizuo really couldn't bring himself to care. That that person was _Izaya_... it was a bit like holding a star in the palm of his hand. That bright little entity had been so cold and distant for so long, Shizuo almost didn't know what to do with holding such brilliance.

That simile was rapidly spiraling into the realm of internalized purple prose, and fate apparently felt the need to intervene in the interest of good taste. Said bright star's eyes snapped open, and said bright star promptly started to freak the fuck out.

“What the- aaaaaaaugh getoffgetoffgetoff. Guh, I really shouldn't be surprised Shizu-chan is a _cuddler_ ,” he spit the term like a vile slur, “but don't use me as some dakimakura to fill the emptiness inside you. Is Shizu-chan so desperate? I shouldn't be surprised, but I _am._ I took you for a 'sex and a cigarette, don't talk to me in the morning' sort of guy, but when have you _ever_ followed my expectations?”  He mashed a palm against Shizuo's cheek and made an eeling motion akin to a protesting toddler or a particularly misanthropic cat.

“What are you- Flea, knock it off- stop- _goddamnit Izaya-_ ” a brief swatting and flailing of limbs ensued, fulminating in an impressive somersault that promptly deposited them both on the floor in a fountain of bedsheets.

Izaya made a wordless noise of slowly dying and went petulantly limp.

“Why are you being so weird?” Shizuo asked in frustration, aggressively cuddling more on principle now than any desire to be close to the annoying man.

“ _I'm_ being weird? You are the one that felt the need to get your snuggle on when two months ago any embrace remotely similar to this one would have snapped my spine. Forgive me if some synapses are getting crossed here.”

Shizuo gave a defeated sigh and ducked his head to kiss the soft skin under Izaya's jaw, because he was adverse to voicing that Izaya had a point two times in one day. The Flea went rigid for a moment before a shiver ran through his body, loosening his muscles as Shizuo's tongue played across his skin. “This is so weird,” he mumbled, embarrassment obvious even when Shizuo couldn't see his face. It was oddly endearing.

“Yeah,” Shizuo murmured against warm skin, earning another shiver, “but you yourself argued how we are in this situation anyway, so we may as well enjoy it. Last night was... was pretty enjoyable.” Images of Izaya, for once out of control, _for once_ not pulling the strings and simply coming apart beneath him in a landscape of tremoring muscle, flashed briefly through his mind. It was a breath-taking metamorphosis, one that he wanted to hoard away and keep for his own. Oh god, now _he_ was feeling bashful. This was so _stupid._

“It was, wasn't it? And yet for all of our sex-capades, we didn't use a single one of our treasure trove of condoms. We are officially terrible at this. Please, _please_ tell me you're clean.”

Shizuo frowned and stilled.“Of course I am clean, you piece of shit. If anyone should be worried, it should be me. You can't have just intuitively known about that hip swivel thing.” Shizuo congratulated himself on making “who else have you slept with” sound all about health concern and not at all about possessiveness and jealously. Because really, what right did he have anyway?

“Your insinuations are noted, but unfounded. Everything I know I learned from a “So You've Decided To Embrace Buttsex” pamphlet.”

Shizuo pulled back for a moment to regard him in bewildered silence.

“Mairu,” Izaya gave by way of explanation.

Shizuo managed one more somber moment of silence before bursting out into an incredulous guffaw. “Our terrible meddling siblings are tag-teaming it? I still have Kasuka's stupid...” As one, their eyes darted up to the nightstand where The Modern Man's Guide to Homosexual Kama Sutra rested innocuously. A glance back to each other showed a delightfully mutual consent. With a sharp intake of breath, Shizuo canted his hips forward and-

His stomach gave a discontent grumble, reminding him that dinner had been no sustenance and all kitchen fire.

Izaya gave a wry chuckle and a sucking kiss to Shizuo's collarbone that almost made him dismiss the hunger as a minor distraction. “I, unfortunately, agree,” the Flea stated simply, giving a fond pat to the blond's stomach. “Come on, let's grab some food. We can always resume when we get back.” Shizuo nodded in defeat and, in a burst of indulgent spontaneity, gave a slap to Izaya's ass before standing. The shorter man's look of baffled indignation helped to put a bounce in his otherwise sleep-addled step. 

* * *

As it so happened, shared showering was almost immediately nixed. Not only did Shizuo not know how to keep his hands to himself (subtlety had never been his forte and claiming he was reaching for the soap when he _just so happened_ to accidentally fondle Izaya really didn't make a compelling argument), they were also spectacularly bad and orbiting around each other without colliding violently. Izaya meant that in a metaphorical _and_ completely literal sense. The third time he took an elbow to the nose while they tried to share the tiny stall, Izaya banished Shizuo to the bedroom to wait his turn while the informant showered in relative peace.

This strategy had the added benefit of occupying Shizuo with his own shower while Izaya toweled his hair dry and updated himself on the trends in the city. The sound of Shizuo's surprisingly melodious singing emanated from the bathroom while four monitors lit Izaya's little corner in a sunset of flashing colors, scrolling news feeds, and frantic chatroom gossip. Izaya was triaging the information unconsciously. The mobilization of the Inagawa-kai on the leftmost monitor garnered minimal attention. Their involvement would be pivotal in the future to ensure Izaya didn't end up dead at the bottom of a river somewhere, but they were not immediately relevant. The inner left monitor cataloged the march orders for a sizable Roppongi gang, which required a bit of damage control seeing as Izaya was the one to spark that little fire in the first place. A short cautionary (and falsified) article about Shizuo killing his three previous employers was managing that situation nicely though.  The inner right screen was monopolizing his primary focus: the Dollars feed was ever and always the most informative source for the pulse of Ikebukuro. Like a verbal-vomit version of a Magic Eye, the inane chatter and hearsay came together to clarify a worrying trend of messages. By the resolving image they were creating, it was time to be a bit more proactive in the chaotic clockwork of the city.

The fourth screen, an article on the breeding cycles of mountain ash, was the by-product of some reckless link-following on Wikipedia and sat neglected at his right periphery.

Izaya's focus flicked back to the Dollars thread. It was a hell of a gambit he was about to put into action. While he routinely sacrificed pieces to progress events in the city, he had never used _himself_ as the bait. Premeditated idiocy was completely novel to him, if somewhat thrilling. His let his fingers hover over the keyboard, knowing if he didn't put something into action, his hand would be forced soon anyway. A great deal of his trepidation came from his need for Shizuo to respond as he predicted, which happened approximately never. His only hope was that the previous night's sex would dictate Shizuo's behavior more than his frustrating, anomalous brain. Izaya hesitated one more moment before the bathroom door swung open.

Shizuo sauntered out into the bedroom, a veritable chador of towels around his body because he was still an impossible manchild.  

"Find a place to eat?" the blond asked with affected flippancy as he went to retrieve one of his ever-present bartender outfits. He glanced back at Izaya several times before giving a quiet sigh and shedding his layers. Izaya made absolutely no effort to hide the fact that he was thoroughly enjoying the show.

Once Shizuo had slipped into his shirtsleeves, Izaya typed out a couple of unhurried responses before exiting out of all of his open windows. It felt a bit like causally sipping poison.

“All of the official restaurants are closed so I am thinking street food is the way to go.” Shizuo’s face lit up, and really, a grin that doofy should be _illegal_. He still found it incredibly aggravating that Shizuo was so effortlessly attractive. Izaya gave a defeated sigh before pushing to his feet. Letting the towel slide off his hips was mostly out of convenience for getting dressed, but Shizuo’s appreciative hum was an added bonus. Once he had retrieved a spare stash of clothes (back to his old form fitting black shirt, but really, what was modesty at this point anyway?), he bundled up in his new pea coat, skirted the melted linoleum, and darted out the door to Shizuo's confused shout. 

It didn't take long for Shizuo to catch up with him as his departure was more good natured antagonism than a true escape. What was a bit more nostalgic was the bellow of “Izaaaaaayyyyaaaaaa!” followed shortly by a less traditional “bundle appropriately or you are going to catch a cold!” before he was clocked in the back of the head with a fluffy scarf that very nearly caused him to eat the iced-over concrete. He had only barely regained his footing when Shizuo’s hand fixed around his upper arm, helping to restore his balance.

“Why are you so careless about your own health?” the blond muttered belligerently, snatching back his weapon of blunt assault so he could wind it around Izaya’s neck. Despite his furious grumbling, Izaya had to applaud Shizuo for resisting using the weave as a garotte. What personal growth!

“Why should I waste the energy when I have Shizu-chan here to worry for me?” he asked coyly. Rather depressingly (as was becoming a bothersome trend), the statement held a bit too much fondness to come off as the passive-aggressive insult that had germinated in his mind. He glanced up to catch Shizuo’s gaze softening while several stray snowflakes spiraled out of the slate gray sky to align on the dark fabric of the bartender outfit.

“Because-“ the blond started, one of his hands lifting from where is was smoothing the warm wool around Izaya’s neck. Instead of finishing that statement, Shizuo made a questioning noise and turned his attention to the left where a gang member stood poised, green eyes wide and startled. A slim blade protruded from Shizuo’s ribs and while the blond appeared completely unbothered by this turn of events, the thug looked to be having some serious second thoughts.

“Take…that?”

Shizuo rolled his eyes, completely forwent a catchy comeback and punched the man square in the face. The hapless idiot went backflipping into his crowd of dubious cronies, bowling them all over in a chorus of shouts and groans.

“Nice shot, Shizu-chan!” Izaya congratulated while marking a second gang that was materializing out of a side alley. He wasn’t really adverse to having a bit of fun with the scum of the city, but further delay to his meal was becoming obnoxious.  “Oi! Thug-san!” he called to the head of the new crowd. Shizuo plucked the knife from the side of his chest and handed it to Izaya, who twirled it absently to gauge its balance. A quick press of his thumb to the blade tip verified the edge was still honed despite its brief journey through Shizuo’s flesh. “While I would love to dissect the insecurities blatant in lurking in side alleys for sloppy seconds even when you outnumber your “prey” ten to one, I would like to continue with my evening even more. Pull up your pants and run along, would you?" With a flick of the wrist, the blade left his grip, shooting through the increasingly heavy fall of snowflakes to slice at the waistband of the thug's pants. The material pooled at the startled man's feet as his crew turned tail and darted back into the grungy alley, abandoning him to his undress. Izaya and Shizuo continued down the main avenue, not bothering to see how the idiot recovered himself.

As they made their way north, their walk turned into a game of "incompetent gang wack-a-mole". Every side street and dark alley was hosting some cohort of misguided idiots who decided to ignore the cries of pain doppler effecting towards them in the interest of taking a shot at Izaya and Shizuo themselves. It was actually kind of fun, bonding with Shizuo while they were on the same side of casual violence. Having been cooped up in the apartment so long, it was honestly also delightful just to get out and stick his fingers in the working of the city again.

By the time they made it to a brave huddle of shops serving street food, the snow was a heavy white curtain and the chilled evening air burned its way through Izaya's wide grin, staining his cheeks pink. Shizuo paused briefly to run a warm thumb over the blush and grinned back lopsidedly before turning to survey their food options. It took Izaya a moment to recover from that casual gesture of affection before he was actually able to focus on the small shop in front of them. The open storefront boasted a hunched old man sweeping, a teenage girl washing plates, and a "chef" in a lab coat, who stared intently at the two potential customers while chopping vegetables in a menacing fashion. Izaya rolled his eyes. They weren't even  _trying_ now. 

He was just about to point out that they should find a different establishment when his world seemed to shift and his axis of gravity altered completely. Taking a stumbling step back, he watched in bewildered disorientation as colors swirled through his vision and distorted the storefront in spiraling smears. Shizuo let out a garbled curse to his right, and despite the vertigo of the action, Izaya turned just in time to watch the blond collapse onto the snowy pavement in a pile of limbs.

"Shizu-" Izaya managed to get out before the ground came rushing up to meet him. In his dimming vision, he saw the teen come from behind the counter to nonchalantly drag Shizuo's recumbent form by the collar toward the shop. 

_Chop chop chop_ came the sound of slicing vegetables right before Izaya completely lost consciousness. 

He had absolutely no concept of time when his eyes next cracked open slowly, registering nothing but an oddly wavering pressure. His vision was swimming. Oh. Literally. Water.

Izaya lay motionless at the edge of a body of water ( _Yabata river_ some cache of stray knowledge informed him) several more moments before registering that breathing was a bit difficult with the water lapping gently against his face. Despite this, he spared several hazy blinks for the quiet snowflakes drifting down around him, aligning on the dark mirror of the river before crumpling in on themselves.

Some frantic portion of his mind was shouting- _get up, **get up** , the water isn’t cold, the water should be cold, **get up**_ \- but it was hazy. Soft. Muted out of respect to the snowflakes, he thought. The lapping waves of the river seemed to agree.

But no, that wasn’t right. He needed to get up. He needed to be doing something. As calm and quiet as the river was, he needed…

Mind and limb alike were sluggish to respond. He couldn’t actually feel where his hands were digging feebly into the frozen mud and he thought maybe that should be concerning. _No time for that. No time. Get up._

It was impossible to say how long it took him to push up out of the shallow water. Gaining his feet was another battle entirely and one that would have been reminiscent to watching a newborn foal stand if anyone had been there to make the comparison. Was he drunk? Maybe he was drunk. That would explain a lot.

He stood for a moment, gasping quietly and appreciating that his heart seemed to have lost its metronomic quality. What an odd sensation. He wavered with the stutter, feeling the entire world pulse as his legs quaked, the snowflakes twirled, and the waves of the river pushed pushed _pushed_ against his ankles.

“Time to go,” he said, without really saying it. The cold had him by the throat, stymieing his words.

He didn’t remember much about the walk other than the blur of faces, uniform in their unease as he stumbled past. Everything just seemed so _difficult_. He had to focus on that little inner voice that seemed to be growing in hysterics but shrinking in volume- it was the only thing keeping him from curling up right in the middle of the sidewalk and taking a nap. Just a short one.

He blinked in confusion when his cheek was suddenly pressed against the smooth surface of a door. He was in a building. And it was _hot_. He thought maybe he should take his jacket off. Maybe his shirt as well. Were buildings always this hot?

He only had one arm out of his sleeve when the door caved inward, depositing him neatly on a polished tile floor. It gleamed like the river, but no snowflakes melted into its surface. Lame floor.

“What the- Izaya!”

Suddenly there were hands on him, tugging him up, dragging him forward, and pressing against his cheek with the molten touch of a normal body temperature. There was noise too. Frantic whispering and the _tap tap tap_ of typing, but he thought maybe he had done what he needed to do. That was good. He closed his eyes.

* * *

“No. No, Izaya come on, keep your eyes open,” Shinra whispered, fighting to keep his voice steady and quiet in the face of the adrenaline suddenly streaking through his blood.

He was used to any number of things thumping against his door at odd hours, but Izaya’s muddy, delirious form was an unnerving sight even for Shinra’s weathered eyes.

Shinra gently tugged Izaya towards the couch, quietly sending Celty to warm some water bottles as he began to strip away the sodden and filthy clothing. They crinkled in his hand. For fuck’s sake, they were frozen.

“Come on Izaya, you need to tell me how your most recent date went,” he coaxed quietly, resolutely not freaking out as his hands tingled with the chill from his friend’s pale flesh. He paused for a moment, feeling the erratic beat of the other man’s heart against his palm.

Shinra took another moment for a deep breath, fighting back the wave of panic that swept through him. “Did you have fun with Shizuo-kun?” He questioned, voice and hands steady as he continued to strip the frozen clothing from Izaya’s thin frame. As the clothes peeled away, Shinra was greeted with expanses of pale flesh, the slightly blue tinge complemented by the delicate bouquets of bruises blooming along his friend’s sides and thighs. Shinra felt something ugly and protective stir in his chest at the sight, but they had to address Izaya’s core temperature before addressing just _how_ those finger shaped bruises has been pressed into the informant’s skin.

“Can’t speak for the snowflakes,” Izaya responded softly, the susurrus sibilant and slurred around his blue lips as his glance remained unfocused.

“Is that so?” Shinra asked conversationally as he drew a heavy blanket around thin shoulders. “Tell me about it.”

Izaya almost managed an irritated scowl before his gaze wavered. With the mud streaked across his face and his hair spiked with grunge and ice, it wouldn’t have been a very successful expression anyway.

“ _Quiet_. Out of respect.” In the faint light of the lamp, his eyes flicked back and forth in erratic beats. _That’s not part of the hypothermia_ , Shinra thought with a frown. Head trauma? Or was he drugged? And not related, but _completely_ related, where the hell was Shizuo?

Celty returned with several warmed water bottles, which Shinra tucked amid the blankets as he kept a hand on Izaya’s thready pulse. He wasn’t really willing to admit it, but he felt completely out of his depth. He was a trauma doctor. He cut out bullets, dressed stab wounds, and gave transfusion when someone was bleeding out. Izaya was currently a physiological trainwreck and Shinra was flying by the seat of his pants on how to treat him without proper monitoring equipment and a full stocked vault of medications.  

“Hot,” Izaya muttered, trying to shift away from the blanket.

“I know I am, if only I could get Celty to admit it,” Shinra teased lightly. “How about you take a sip of this water bottle instead, okay?” He pressed the item in question against Izaya’s lips, pouring the tepid liquid slowly and watching most of it dribble down the informant’s chin.

Izaya made another face. “You _suck_.”

Shinra couldn’t help a quiet laugh. “That’s the spirit.” He turned back to see Celty offering a heavy sweater and a dark pair of pants from the dryer before she turned her back in a show of modesty. No help from that front then. His dear sweet Celty was surprisingly easy to fluster given her age and all she had seen. He couldn’t help but find it precious, even if it meant he had to tackle his handful of a friend all on his own. “Alright Izaya-kun, it is time to get dressed. Are you going to be cooperative?”

The answer was a resounding “no”. Dressing the informant was reminiscent to wrangling a cat into a Halloween costume and resulted in about as many scratches. In what he later wished had been recorded for blackmail, Shinra ended up sitting on the disoriented informant to shove him into the pair of pants (a little maneuver that cost him a heel to his throat. The labors Shinra went to for friendship).

In the end, Izaya was stuffed into warm, dry clothes and swaddled in about forty more blankets to his building and blatantly obvious indignation. An interesting side effect of the warming, however, was his increasingly erratic behavior. The abnormal eye movement became more pronounced as his body became a poorly calibrated android, jolting and jerking with irregular motor function.

“Get me a pen,” Izaya demanded while Shinra observed him lurch in and out of sitting on the couch. Curious, Shinra grabbed the requested writing utensil and a sheet of paper.

Izaya drugged was a maelstrom of brilliance untempered by social niceties. Perhaps it took lifting that veil to realize Izaya even acknowledged such statutes in the first place. His gaze was unsteady and his words were slurred, but in the trembling palsy of his pen strokes sat the power to bring their city to its knees. Shinra observed, wary. He had too much exposure to Izaya’s reined insanity to not fear what this change might bring. The scrawled words were gibberish to him, but clearly Izaya's rabid mind held the cipher to their nonsense. Slowly, a net of lines filled the page in between the nonsensical words in what appeared to be an intricate flow chart. With a final scowl, Izaya flung the pen away to have it ricochet off of one of the living room walls.

"As good as it's going to get," he stated at last before ripping the paper into dozens of tiny pieces. Shinra wished he could say this behavior was secondary to whatever was making Izaya trip so dramatically, but such actions wouldn't be out of character in his sober friend either.

"How about I get you a warm mug of tea, and we take a breather for a bit before getting back into the scheming, hm?" Izaya's response was to stare at him with glassy eyes. Shinra chose to take that as endorsement and fled to the kitchen, carefully blocking out his building anxiety with steeping tea.

* * *

Izaya sat in stunned silence, trying to reconcile what just happened now that he was thinking a bit clearer. Of every possible outcome to the night he had been toying with, Shizuo being _kidnapped_ wasn’t even on the radar. It was sort of like witnessing someone lassoing the moon and gallivanting off with it- he was conflicted over being impressed that such a thing was even possible, and being pissed off because _damnit, it’s the moon, and it’s kind of important, and maybe some people like looking at it, so really that level of heist is pretty inconsiderate._

Even more frustrating was the fact that he had to acknowledge there had been a horrible miscalculation.

It wasn’t that this unexpected variance from his plan was any great stumbling block. For all that Izaya schemed, his forte was his mutability and talent for adapting quickly to new situations. If anything, this outcome was _more_ favorable than his originally planned personal abduction. Just… he had missed a vital variable. His fingers absently brushed across his chest, as if trying to wipe away the unpleasant clenching there. No, nowhere in his plans did Izaya account for his own emotional involvement. Or whatever this was (seriously, what _was_ this?). Perhaps most distressing was the sensation only seemed to be building: a sort of frantic tingle that fell just on the wrong side of anticipation. For so many years Izaya had gleefully observed the idiocy this sort of emotion sparked in other people. That he should have set himself up for it… how cruelly appropriate.

His acknowledging this flaw and his general disgust at this situation did nothing to change his plan of action, however. His gaze aligned on Celty, who was curled up on a side couch reading a book.

“Black rider, go retrieve Sonohara-san. Please.”

Celty was either thrown by his serious tone or was putting aside complaints in the name of the odd situation, as she disappeared from his line of vision at a quick trot. Off to the side, Shinra held up a quiet hand, asking her to stay as he continued to watch Izaya. Celty, obviously caught between what to do, lingered at the edge of the room, shifting her weight uneasily.

Izaya sank back into the couch, feeling exhausted and awful and so damn nauseated at everything that was taking place. His emotional health was such a minefield that he couldn’t even dig up a bit of irritation at Shinra’s silent, knowing look as Izaya scrubbed his hands over his face.

_Fuck!_

“This is beyond absurd,” he announced to no one in particular before reaching for his phone in his sodden pile of defrosted clothing, miraculously dry and functional despite his earlier waterway jaunt. One careful swipe of a finger he pretended wasn’t trembling opened a file that unfolded the intricate layout of Nebula’s Nerima headquarters.

As his eyes traced distractedly over the sprawl of lines (concrete, electrical, air vents. Air vents? No, far, far too cliché. Also: fans), his mind raced across an entirely different web of complications. _I do not enjoy being played, gentlemen, and I do not enjoy having my plans interrupted. I know all too well the sort of mischief you get up to with those abductees and I would be rather put out if you took such measures with my personal plaything_.

Izaya didn’t even realize that both his hands were now shaking or that his motives may have been slightly compromised. All he could focus on was his mental map of contacts and connections.

His eyes glowed with the reflection of the phone’s screen.

“Shinra, I need you to contact your father immediately. Convince him to come over and then have Dotachin get his group together. Shizu-chan is going to need all of us.” He looked up when this was met was silence and was immediately dismayed to see Celty still lingering at Shinra’s side.

The young doctor was at his most serious, eyes hidden behind the reflective surface of his glasses. “Izaya-kun. I know you are worried about Shizuo, but you are nowhere near stable yet and you aren’t thinking properly.”

“ _Shinra_ -“

“And regardless of that, I can’t let you risk Celty like this, even if it is for a friend. You’ve made a fine mess of the city and I am worried about the type of people she may run into if you send her on these manipulative quests of yours.” Celty tensed at this seemingly possessive statement, but Shinra’s brief pleading look and tentative reach for her hand eventually had her shoulders slumping. She moved closer to his side. Shinra relaxed for one moment, carding their fingers together, before looking back to Izaya. “Please. You need to just lie low for awhile or else a lot of people may get hurt in your games. I can’t bring anyone into this and I certainly can’t let you leave, until you are thinking a bit more clearly.”

It was true- Izaya was far from recovered. He blamed this (it had to be the electrolyte imbalance) for the fact that Shinra’s statement very nearly made him burst into hysterical tears. Yes, people _may_ get hurt from his rescue plan, but Shizuo was most assuredly being hurt _right now_ , if not physically then emotionally, and it was Izaya’s fault. Why couldn’t Shinra _see that?_  It was really a fine bout of hypocrisy to sit there and tell Izaya to lie low when Shinra had Celty safe and sound at his side. Izaya had thought they were _friends_ and-

Izaya inhaled slowly through his nose, firmly tuning out the internal hysteria for a moment. It was all just one more fantastic facet of humanity. Shinra had always helped him with his plans in the past. It was truly intriguing that he would dig in his heels when Izaya was actually trying to do something right. This was interesting. Izaya could find this interesting. Because if it was all just a game, Izaya could keep his head. _Fascinating choice, Shinra!_

It was a tenuous self delusion, but it kept him from hyperventilating so Izaya had to roll with it. “You’re right,” he responded eventually because Shinra was still looking at him. “Of course. I am feeling a bit too rash right now, so you’re absolutely right.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Shinra stated warily.

“May I use the bathroom please?”

“Of course. Just go slow. Your temperature is nowhere near normal, and I am still worried about-“ Shinra prattled on medically as he helped Izaya to his feet. Izaya’s muscles felt like jelly, and his heart was aching, and WOW was his head doing something funny, but he was lucid enough to make this work. He had to make this work. As they shuffled through the hallway, Izaya played up his weakness so that Shinra slowly became more relaxed in guiding him. It was right as they were going to turn down the hall to the bathroom that Izaya made a break for it.

_Come on body, come on_. He tore away from Shinra in one fluid twist, stooping to pick up a planter in his desperate scramble. Shinra gave a surprised shout as Izaya angled towards the living room, relying on adrenaline to keep his weak legs moving.

“Izaya, wait-!”

In a clumsy half swing, Izaya lobbed the planter through one of the large windows and immediately rolled through the resultant cloud of glass to shoot out of the building in a shattering clamor.

“Holy _fuck_ \- Izaya!” Izaya’s weak fingers latched onto a ledge of the building, swinging him inwards until his feet thumped against the glass of the apartment below Shinra’s. He had completely forgotten about shoes, apparently. An inconvenience, but not vital. Had he taken the more traditional stairs Shinra would have caught him in no time, but parkour was a talent only Izaya and Shizuo had perfected. As Shinra leaned frantically out of his broken window, Izaya did a few lache down to a lower level, cat crawled along the ledge, and fleetingly eyeballed the adjacent building before breaking into a full run and vaulting the distance in a smear of adrenaline and snowflakes. By the time he was scrambling along the next ledge, muscles trembling and heart racing, Shinra’s frantic shouts had been swallowed by the wind.

* * *

It had only been minutes, but Shinra paced his living room anxiously, staring at the screen of his phone for any aid in catching his wayward, batshit-crazy friend. Celty had made a motion to follow out the window, but after a brief hesitation, Shinra had pulled her back. For all that he was worried about Izaya, he couldn’t rule out the possibility that that dramatic exit was a maneuver to pry Celty away for further manipulation. Shinra dug a frustrated hand into his hair and shivered at the gust of winter air flooding into his apartment. It took the tapping of Celty’s message to tear him from his thoughts.

[I don’t care if you think this is some elaborate ruse of Izaya’s. If Shizuo is actually in trouble, we can’t risk it!]

“I know,” Shinra stated, letting his hand drop from where it had matted his hair. “I know. But Celty, I can’t risk you-“

In a blur of movement, Celty had him pinned against the wall. [Stop! It is not your job to play some sort of guardian to me! I appreciate the sentiment, but you are not using my safety as an excuse to abandon Shizuo!]

“Izaya is _scared_!” Shinra shouted back and the two “stared” at each other in tense silence for several moments. “Izaya is scared,” Shinra stated again in a quieter voice. “It may not have looked like it to you, but I have never seen him so terrified or desperate. He doesn’t get scared. He laughs at misfortune and says “oh that’s interesting!” and “humans are so fascinating!” and moves on with his day. So the fact that Izaya is scared scares the shit out of _me_ ,” Shinra ended, barely above a whisper. “This is Izaya cracking at the edges, Celty. When the master of masks can’t hold up his guise, that is truly bad news for the rest of us. Whatever is going on, he doesn’t have firm control over it. If you get mixed up in it, you will very likely burn for it. I can’t do any of this without you Celty. I love my friends. I love my job. I love this city. But I love you more than all of that combined. I will not lose you.”

Celty was still for several moments before gently pressing her fingers to his cheek. Lowering her hand, she typed out a short message.

[Then come burn with me.]

And really, what choice did he have?

* * *

“He sold you out. You get that, right?” The corporate thug seemed to be on some sort of schadenfreude quest to drive this point home. Shizuo shrugged. It all came on the warning label for dealing with Izaya. He had, in fact, anticipated this happening far before it actually had. So... yay for that.

Frustrated by the lack of response, the thug slammed the door shut, leaving Shizuo to stare at the insulting serenity of his beige walls. This room was the only one he had seen since crawling out of the odd drugged state he had been put into. In his current state, Shizuo had no idea where he was, who was holding him, or what they even hoped to accomplish by keeping him detained. All he knew was his emotions were muted and dull. There was absolutely no anger in his system and its absence was so acute that it would actually be freaking him out had he felt more coherent.

More overwhelming was the strange emotion that was scratching around in his chest, one that he wasn’t readily able to identify. Anger would have been the most logical, but this didn’t have anger’s righteous burn. It burned, but in a way that seemed to eat at Shizuo’s constitution. He felt weak. Susceptible. On the whole, anger was far preferable.

Nearly unconsciously, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a simple silver ring far too small to fit on any of his fingers. As he turned it over in his hand, the feeling only seemed to grow until his chest was unbearably tight, making breathing difficult. It really didn’t make any sense. He knew this was going to happen. He _knew_. So why was he feeling such a distressing emotion? He stared at the ring as if it could give him the answer. All it did was waver in his vision as his breathing stuttered quietly through the empty room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cliffhangered and I didn't even mean to D:


End file.
